White Gold Wielder Part 50

*He has compelled me to preserve him! But he must not be suffered! Chosen, withhold!

Now Vain resisted Findafl, exerted himself to hold the Elohim back. But in this Findail was too strong for him.

Fighting like hawks, they strove closer and closer to the dais.

Then Linden thought that she would surely move. She would go to the ring and take it, if for no other reason than because she trusted neither the Appointed nor his ebon counterpart. Vain was either unreachable or utterly violent.456 Findail showed alternate compa.s.sion and disdain as if both were simply facets of his mendacity. And Covenant had tried to warn her. The abrupt brutality of his dismissal drew anger from her waning heart.

But she had waited too long. The mounting winds blew through her as if she were a shadow. Covenant's head had become far more real than her legs; she could not shift them. The ceiling leaned over her like a distillation of itself, stone condensed past the obduracy of diamond. The snapped fragments of the stalact.i.tes were as irreducible as grief. This world was too much for her. In the end, it surpa.s.sed all her conceptions of herself. Flashes of rocklight seemed to leave lacerations across her sight. Findail and Vaia struggled and struggled toward the ring; and every one of their movements was as acute as a catastrophe. Vain wore the heels of the Staff of Law like strictures. She was fading to extinction.

Covenant's dead weight held her helpless.

She tried to cry out. But she was too insubstantial to make (376 of 399) [1/19/03 11:38:44 PM]

any sound which Mount Thunder might have heard.

Yet she was answered. When she believed that she had wasted all hope, she was answered.

Two figures burst from the same tunnel which had brought her to Kiril Threndor. They entered the chamber, stumbled to a halt. They were desperate and bleeding, exhausted beyond endurance, nearly dead on their feet. Her longsword was notched and gory; blood dripped from her arms and mail. His breathing retched as if he were hemorrhaging. But their valor was unquenchable. Somewhere, Pitchwife found the strength to gasp urgently, "Chosen! The ring!"

The sudden appearance of the Giants defied comprehension.

How could they have escaped the Cavewights? But they were here, alive and half prostrate and willing. And the sight of them lifted Linden's spirit like an act of grace. They brought her back to herself in spite of the gale pulling her away.

Findail was scarcely a step from the ring. Vain could not hold him back.

But the Appointed did not reach it.

Linden grasped Covenant's wedding band with the thin remains of her health-sense, drew fire spouting like an affirmation out of the metal. It was her ring now, granted to her in love and necessity; and the first touch of its flame restored her with a shock at once exquisitely painful and glad, ferocious The Sun-Sage 45'

and blessed-Suddenly, she was as real as the stone and thi light, as substantial as FindaiTs frenzy, Vain's intransigence the Giants' courage. The pressure thrusting her out of existent did not subside; but now she was a match for it Her lung took and released the sulfur-tinged an* as if she had a righ to it With white fire, she repelled the Elohim. Then, as kindl as if he were alive, she slid her legs from under Covenant*

head.

Leaving him alone there, she went to take the ring.

For an instant, she feared to touch it, thinking its flam might b.u.m her. But she knew better. Her senses were explicit this blaze was hers and would not harm her. Deliberately, sh closed her right fist around the fiery band.

At once, argent flame ran up her forearm as if her fles]

were afire. It danced and spewed to the beat of her pulse. Bu it did not consume her, took nothing away from her: th price of power would be paid later, when the wild magic wa gone. Instead, it seemed to flow into her veins, infusm vitality. The fire was silver and lovely, and it filled her wit stability and strength and the capacity for choice as if it wer a feast.

She wanted to shout aloud jor simple joy. This was powel and it was not evil if she were not. The hunger which ha dogged her days was only dark because she had feared i (377 of 399) [1/19/03 11:38:44 PM]

denied it. It had two names, and one of them was life.

Her first impulse was to turn to the Giants, heal the Firs and Pitchwife of their hurts, share her relief and vindicatio with them. But Vain and Findail stood before her*the A[ pointed held by the clench of Vain's hand*and they df manded her attention.

The Demondim-sp.a.w.n was looking at her: a feral gri shaped his mouth. Rough bark unmarked by lava or strai enclosed his wooden forearm. But Findail could not meet he gaze. The misery of his countenance was now complete. H eyes were blurred with tears; his silver hair straggled to hi shoulders in strands of pain. He sagged against Vain as if a his strength had failed. His free hand clutched at his con panion's black shoulder like pleading.

Linden had no more anger for them. She did not need i But the focus of Vain's midnight eyes baffled her. She kne'

intuitively that he had come to the cusp of his secret purpos438 *and that somehow its outcome depended on her. But even white gold did not make her senses sharp enough to read him.

She was sure of nothing except Findail's fear.

dinging to Vain's shoulder, the Appointed murmured like a child, "I am Elohim. Kastenessen cursed me with death*

but I am not made for death. I must not die."

The Demondim-sp.a.w.n's reply was so unexpected that Linden recoiled a step. "You will not die." His voice was mellifluous and clean, as perfect as his sculpted flesh*and entirely devoid of compa.s.sion. He neither dismissed nor acknowledged FindaiTs fear. "It is not death. It is purpose.

We will redeem the Earth from corruption."

Then he addressed Linden. Neither deference nor command flawed his tone. "Sun-Sage, you must embrace'us."

She stared at him. "Embrace*?"

He did not respond: his voice seemed to lapse as if he had uttered all the words he had been given and would never speak again. But his gaze and his grin met her like expectation, an unwavering and inexplicable certainty that she would comply.

For a moment, she hesitated. She knew she had little time.

The pressure which sought to recant her summoning continued to grow. Before long, it would become too potent to be resisted. But the decision Vain required of her was crucial.

Everything came together here*the purpose of the ur-viles, the plotting of the Elohim, the survival of the Land*and she had already made too many bad choices.

She glanced toward the Giants. But Pitchwife had no more help to give her. He sat against the wall and wrestled with the huge pain in his chest. Crusted blood rimmed his mouth.

And the First stood beside him, leaning on her sword and watching Linden. She held herself like a mute statement that she would support with her last strength whatever the Chosen (378 of 399) [1/19/03 11:38:44 PM]

did.

Linden turned back to the Demondim-sp.a.w.n.

For no sufficient reason, she found that she was sure of him. Or perhaps she had become sure of herself. White fire curled up and down her right arm, plumed toward her shoulder, accentuated the strong rush of her life. He was rigid and murderous, blind to any concerns but his own. But because he had been given to Covenant by Foamfollower*

The Sun-Sage 459 because he had bowed to her once*because he had saved her life*and because he had met with anger the warping of his makers*she did what he asked.

When she put her arms around his neck and Findail's, the Elohim flinched. But his people had Appointed him to this peril, and their will held. At the last instant, he raised his head to meet his personal Wiird.

In that instant. Linden became a staggering concussion of power which she had not intended and could not control.

But the blast had no outward force: it cast no light or fire, flung no fury. It might have been invisible to the Giants. All its energy was directed inward.

At the two strange beings hugged in her arms.

Wild magic graven in every rock, contained for white gold to unleash or control- gold, rare metal, not born of the Land, nor ruled, limited, subdued by the Law, with which the Land was created*- and white*white gold*

because white is the hue of bonef structure of ftesh, discipline of life.

it Filled with white pa.s.sion, her embrace became the crucible in which Vain and Findail melted and were made new.

Findail, the tormented Elohim: Earthpower incarnate.

Amoral, arrogant* and self-complete, capable of everything.

Sent by his people to redeem the Earth at any cost. To obtain the ring for himself if he could. And if he could not, to pay the price of failure.

This price.

And Vain, the Demondim-sp.a.w.n: artificially manufactured by ur-viles. More rigid than gutrock, less tracible than bone.

Alive to bis inbred purpose and cruelly insensate to every other need or value or belief.

In Linden's clasp, empowered by wild magic, their opposite bodies bled together. While she held them, they began to merge.

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Findail's fluid Earthpower. Vain's hard, perfect structure.

And between them, the old definition forged into the heels of White Gold Wielder 460.

the Staff of Law. The Elohim lost shape, seemed to flow through the Demondim-sp.a.w.n. Vain changed and stretched toward the iron bands which held his right wrist and left ankle.

His forearm shed its bark, gleamed like new wood. And the wood grew, spread out across the transformation, imposed its form upon the merging.

When she understood what was happening. Linden poured herself into the apotheosis. Wild magic supplied the power, but that was not enough. Vain and Findail needed more from her. Vain had been so perfectly made that he attained the stature of natural Law, brought to beauty all the long self-loathing of the ur-viles. But he had no ethical imperative, no sense of purpose beyond this climax. Findail's essence supplied the capacity for use, the strength which made Law effective. But he could not give it meaning: the Elohim were too self-absorbed. The transformation required something which only the human holder of the ring could provide.

She gave the best answer she had. Fear and distrust and anger she set aside: they had no place here. Exalted by white fire, she shone forth her pa.s.sion for health and healing, her Land-boro percipience, the love she had learned for Andelain and Earthpower. By herself, she chose the meaning she desired and made it true.

In her hands, the new Staff began to live.

Living Law filled the bands of lore; living power shone in every fiber of the wood. The old Staff had been rune-carved to define its purpose. But this Staff was alive, almost sentient: it did not need runes.

As her fingers closed around the wood, she was swept away in a flood of possibility.

Almost without transition, her health-sense became as huge as the mountain. She tasted Mount Thunder's tremendous weight and ancientness, felt the slow, wracked breathing of the stone. Cavewights scurried like motes through the un- measured catacombs. Far below her, two Ravers cowered among the banes and creatures of the depths. Somewhere above them, the few surviving ur-viles watched Kiril Threndor in a reflective pool of acid and barked vindication at Vain's success. Spouting lava cast its heat onto ber bare cheek. A myriad pa.s.sages, dens, offal-pits, and chamels ached emptily The Sun-Sage 461 and stank because the river which should have run through Treacher's Gorge was dry, supplied no water to wash the (380 of 399) [1/19/03 11:38:45 PM]

Wightwarrens. At the peak, FireLions crouched, waiting in eternal immobility for the invocation to life.

And still her range increased. Wild magic and Law carried her outward. Before she could clarify half her perceptions, they reached beyond the mountain, went out to the Land.

The sun was rising. Though she stood in Kiril Threndor as if she were entranced, she felt the Sunbane dawn over her.

It was insanely intense. She had become too vulnerable: it stabbed along her nerves like the life-thrust of a hot knife, pierced her heart with venom like a keen fang. At once, she s.n.a.t.c.hed herself back toward shelter*recoiled as if she were reeling to the cave where the Giants watched her in wide astonishment and Covenant lay dead upon the floor.

A fertile sun. Visceral fever gripped her. Sunder and Hollian had abhorred the sun of pestilence more than any other.

But for Linden the fertile sun was the worst. It was ill beyond bearing, and everything it touched became a sob of anguish.

Echoes of her fire licked the walls. One long crack marked the floor. Something precious had been broken here. The First and Pitchwife stared at her as if she had become wonderful.

She had so little time left. She needed time, needed peace and rest and solace in which to muster courage. But the pressure of her dismissal continued to buud. And the Staff of Law multiplied that force. Summons and return acted by rules which the Staff affirmed. Only her fist on the ring and her grip on the dean wood*only her clenched will*held her where she was.

She knew what she would have to do.

The prospect appalled her.

But she had already borne so much, and it would all be rendered meaningless if she faltered now. She did not have to fail. This was why she had been chosen. Because she was fit to fulfill Covenant's last appeal. It was too much*and yet it was hardly enough to repay her debts. Why should she fail?

The mere thought that she would have to let the Sunbane touch her and touch her made her guts writhe, sent nausea beating down her veins. Horror raised mute cries of protest.

In a sense, she would have to become the Land*to expose herself as fully as the Land to the Sunbane's desecration. It 462 would be like being locked again in the attic with her dying father while dark glee came hosting against her*like endur- ing again her mother's abject blame until she was driven to the point of murder. But she had survived those things. She had found her way through them to a life worthy of more respect than she had ever given it. And the old man whose life she had saved on Haven Farm bad given her a promise to sustain her.

Ah, my daughter, do not fear. You will not fail, however he may a.s.sail you. There is also love in the world.

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Because she needed at least one small comfort for herself, she turned to the Giants.

They had not moved. They had no eyes to see what was happening. But indomitability still shone in the First's face.

No grime or bloodshed could mar her iron beauty. She looked as acute as an eagle. And when he met Linden's gaze. Pitchwife grinned as if she were the last benison he would ever need.

With the Staff of Law and the white ring. Linden caressed the fatigue out of the First's limbs, restored her Giantish strength. The rupture in Pitchwife's lungs Linden effaced, healing his respiration. Then, so that she would be able to trust herself later, she unbent his spine, restructured the bones in a way that allowed him to stand straight, breathe normally.

But after that she had no more time. The wind between the worlds keened constantly across the background of her thoughts, calling her away. She could not refuse it much longer.

Be true.

Deliberately, she opened her senses and went. by her own choice back out into the Sunbane.

Its power was atrocious beyond belief; and the Land lay broken under it*broken and dying, a helpless body slain like Covenant in her worst nightmare, the knife driven by an astonishing violence which had brought up more blood than she had ever seen in her life. And from that wound corruption welled upward.

Nothing could stop it. It ate at the ground like venom. The wound grew wider with every sunrise. The Land had been stabbed to its vitals. Murder spewed across the sodden hillsides, clogged the dry riverbeds, gathered and reeked in every The Sun-Sage 463 hollow and valley. Only the heart of Andelain remained un- ruined; but even there the sway of slaughter grew. The very Earth was bleeding to death. Linden had no way to save herself from drowning.

That was the truth of the Sunbane. It could never be stanched. She was a fool to make the attempt.

But she held wild magic clenched like bright pa.s.sion in her right fist; and her left hand gripped the living Staff. Both were hers to wield. Guided by her health-sense*by the same vulnerability which let the Sunbane run through her like a riptide, desecrating every thew of her body, every ligament of her will *she stood within her mind on the high slopes of Mount Thunder and set herself to do battle with perversion.

It was a strange battle, weird and terrible. She had no op- ponent. Her foe was the rot Lord Foul had afflicted upon the Earthpower; and without him the Sunbane had neither mind nor purpose. It was simply a hunger which fed on every form of nature and health and life. She could have fired her huge forces blast after blast and struck nothing except the ravaged (382 of 399) [1/19/03 11:38:45 PM]

ground, done no hurt to anything not already lost. Only scant moments after dawn, green sprouts of vegetation stretched like screams from the soil.

And beyond this fertility lyrked rain and pestilence and desert in erratic sequence, waiting to repeat themselves over and over again, always harder and faster, until the foundations of the Land crumbled. Then the Sunbane would be free to spread.

Out to the rest of the Earth.

But she had learned from Covenant*and from the Raver's possession. She did not attempt to attack the Sunbane. Instead, she called it to herself, accepted it into her personal flesh.