Andelain had healed the burns inflicted by the blood of the skurj.
Later, as the sun reached noon, the company halted beside a lazy rill to water the Ranyhyn and let them crop the grass. The Ramen and Liand gathered treasure-berries while Linden restored the flagging stamina of the Giants. And later still, in the middle of the afternoon, they stopped again for the same reasons.
In spite of the pressure driving her, Linden felt calm and sure; content with the company’s progress. Andelain nurtured a tranquility as pervasive as mansuetude. She would reach the Soulsease when she reached it. If night fell, darkness would not prevent her from locating the krill.
The Wraiths had allowed her to enter among the Hills.
Bemused by thoughts of acceptance and vindication, Linden mounted Hyn once more. When the Giants were ready, she rode on as if Andelain had healed all of her fears.
And as the sun neared the treetops in the west, casting long shadows like striations of augury across her path, she caught her first glimpse of the river through the gold leaves of Gilden and the warm flowers of fruit trees.
Tossing his head with an air of hauteur, Hynyn greeted the sight with a clarion whinny; and Hyn took a few dancing steps in a horse’s gavotte. “Stone and Sea!” panted Coldspray. “When you tell the tale of your journeys, Linden Giantfriend, you must credit what we have accomplished in your name. Weary as we were, and are, I would not have believed—” She cut short her wonder and pride to catch her breath. Then she said, “You voiced a desire to gain the Soulsease River ere nightfall. We have done so. The achievement of your purpose is at hand. We will pray for the Land’s healing. Thereafter we will expend entire seasons in celebration.”
In a rush of excitement, Linden urged Hyn to quicken her strides. The Soulsease—! Conflicted by confluences in the west, and polluted in the east by its turmoil within the belly of Mount Thunder, the river was untrammeled and placid while it ran through Andelain: gentle as a caress, and warm as a vein of life. Millennia ago, she and Covenant had followed the course of the Soulsease toward their confrontation with the Despiser. Now she was less than a league from the place where they had left Loric’s krill after Hollian’s resurrection.
The sun had only begun to set, and already she was within a Giant’s shout of her goal: the justification for everything that she had suffered and done since she had learned the truth about Roger Covenant and the croyel.
The other Ranyhyn kept pace with Hyn. Behind them, the Giants ran in spite of their protracted weariness. Swift with anticipation, the company rounded a last hillock, passed through a grove of stately Gilden, and reached the river.
Here the Soulsease tended quietly northeastward. Between its broad banks, however, it opened a gap among the trees. Although the sun was sinking, its light still lay along the water; and its farewell fire burnished the river, transforming the current to ruddy bronze like a carpet unrolled to welcome the advent of night.
As the company halted, Linden recognized the satisfied pride of the Giants, the calm confidence of the Ranyhyn. She tasted Liand’s pleasure and that of the Cords. Indeed, Pahni’s and Bhapa’s gladness was dimmed only by their Manethrall’s clenched, contained sorrow. Linden sensed the depth of Anele’s dreamless slumber, the solidity of Stave’s presence, the ungiving impassivity of the Humbled. But now she shared none of their reactions. Her attention had already gone past the Soulsease.
On the far side of the river, she saw the Harrow.
His relaxed poise as he sat his destrier made it obvious that he was waiting for her.
12.
Trust Yourself
Linden’s heart thudded as Stave said quietly. “Chosen,” warning her.
What I seek, lady, is to possess your instruments of power.
A moment later, she felt a surge of alarm from Liand. “Heaven and Earth,” he breathed. “He is here? Does he dare to meditate harm in Andelain?”
What I will have, however, is your companionship.
Under his breath, Mahrtiir muttered Ramen curses.
“Mayhap he does not,” suggested Stave. “The Wraiths have permitted him.”
The Harrow could unmake Demondim-spawn with a gesture; an incantation. Did he have the same kind of power over the Wraiths?
Linden shook her head. No. The ur-viles and Waynhim were unnatural creatures. I have made a considerable study of such beings. But the Wraiths were avatars of Earthpower: they flourished among Andelain’s organic largesse. The Harrow’s ability to destroy artificial life did not imply a comparable threat to the Wraiths.
They had accepted his presence as they had accepted Linden’s.
I am able to convey you to your son.
The sight of him transformed her certainty to confusion.
Gritting his teeth, Mahrtiir answered the surprise of the Swordmainnir. Two nights ago, Linden had told them about the Harrow. Now Mahrtiir identified the figure, dun with dusk, on the south bank of the Soulsease. Grimly he repeated what he knew of the ornately caped and clad Insequent.
While the Manethrall spoke, Liand nudged Rhohm to Hyn’s side. “Linden,” he whispered urgently, “what will you do? He covets both your Staff and the white gold ring. Yet he has forsworn coercion.” The Mahdoubt had given up her life to wrest that oath from the Harrow. “And he claims that he can bear you to your son.
“If his word holds, how will he gain his desires? Will you bargain with him to gain passage to your son?”
Esmer and Roger had fought to stop the Harrow; to kill him if they could not remove him from this time. Linden assumed that moksha Raver’s kresh had attacked for the same reason. They wanted to prevent her from reaching Jeremiah.
But Kastenessen could not enter Andelain. The Despiser would not. Perhaps Esmer himself had no power here. Presumably even Roger did not pose a threat. The awakened krill and the Wraiths warded the Hills.
The Harrow was safe. As safe as Linden.
She had nothing to bargain with except her Staff and Covenant’s ring. Could she trade them away now? Abandon her purpose? For Jeremiah’s sake?
What would that accomplish? Without Earthpower and wild magic, she would have nothing to free him from the croyel—
The prospect scattered her thoughts like a gust of wind in dried leaves. She had experienced imponderable rescues, miracles of hope. Caerroil Wildwood had completed her Staff. The Mahdoubt had retrieved her from the Land’s past. And Anele had named other mysteries. Two days ago, he had told her that Morinmoss redeemed the covenant, the white gold wielder. The Forestal sang, and Morinmoss answered.
She needed to believe that she was not done with wonders; that she could accomplish what she had come here to do. That she might find Jeremiah without surrendering any of her strengths. Otherwise she would be helpless to refuse the Insequent.
Now those days are lost.
Instead of answering Liand, Linden turned to Stave.
“Do you know what Anele was talking about?” she asked. “In Salva Gildenbourne, before the Giants found us, he said that Morinmoss ‘redeemed’ Covenant. It was a long time ago. Do you remember? Can you tell me what he meant?”
All vastness is forgotten.
If her query surprised Stave, he did not show it. “There is a tale,” he said carefully. “Some of its aspects are not known. The ur-Lord himself could not recall them clearly. Having eaten amanibhavam, he was held by delirancy for a time, and retained only fragments of what transpired.”
Beyond the trees, the sun sank lower. Its light left the Soulsease, shrouding the Harrow in gloom.
“In the unnatural winter which High Lord Elena had imposed upon the Land,” Stave continued, “wielding the Staff of Law in Corruption’s service, the Unbeliever sought sanctuary in a Ramen covert. But the covert was beset, and he fled. Freezing and alone, he confronted another servant of Corruption. Aided by a Ranyhyn, Lena mother of Elena saved his life. In the attempt, however, Lena perished, and the ur-Lord’s ankle was broken.
“He would not consent to rid
e the Ranyhyn. Rather he freed them to escape that dire winter.”
“Aye,” Mahrtiir assented. He and the whole company listened to Stave. “So the tale is told among the Ramen.”
“At first,” Stave explained. “he wandered, lost. Yet in some fashion he was guided beyond the Roamsedge into Morinmoss. It appeared to him that he was called by the song of a Forestal—a song which summoned him to the care of an unknown woman.
“There memory failed him. He did not return to himself until his hurts had been healed, both his ankle and his amanibhavam-stricken mind, and the woman lay dead.
“If it is sooth that he was drawn into Morinmoss by a Forestal, and that he was restored at a Forestal’s urging, then it may truly be said that he was ‘redeemed’ by the power of wood and sap and song. Also he was later aided by the brief awakening of the Colossus when he confronted High Lord Elena and was powerless.”
The Giants harkened to Stave with fascination, the Ramen with acknowledgment and approval. The Humbled paid no apparent heed to anything except the crepuscular loom of the Harrow. But Liand chafed at Stave’s explanation. As soon as the former Master was done, he protested. “Linden, I do not comprehend. Often Anele has revealed much which others can not or do not discern. Yet how does this tale pertain to the Harrow?”
Linden felt an obscure relief. Her confusion was fading; dripping away like wave-tossed water from a boulder. There is more in Andelain—and among the Dead—and in your heart—than Lord Foul can conceive. Once again, she discovered that Anele’s eerie utterances had substance. Remember that he is the hope of the Land.
“It doesn’t,” she told Liand. “Not directly.” Everything pertained, the doom of the One Forest and the passing of the Forestals as much as the Mahdoubt’s ruin and Esmer’s conflicted betrayals. “I’m just trying to imagine what a bargain with the Harrow might cost.” She intended to redeem her son at any price—but she also intended to choose that price. “The Wraiths refused Longwrath. But they’re ignoring him. That must mean something.”
There is hope in contradiction.
The Law of Life had been broken in Andelain. Elena had broken the Law of Death among the roots of Melenkurion Skyweir. On both occasions, Covenant had found a way to save the Land.
Rime Coldspray’s voice was a low rumble. “In this, we cannot counsel you. Among us, children are precious beyond description. Both the Swordmainnir and the Giants of Dire’s Vessel have hazarded their lives for Longwrath’s unattained redemption. But you have not named your purpose. Ignorant of what you will attempt, we cannot gauge the import of the Harrow’s presence.”
A moment passed before Linden realized that all of her companions were waiting for her decision.
“All right.” She had already made up her mind. “I want to hear what he has to say. But I’m not going to agree to anything until we reach the krill. I don’t trust him. I won’t take any chances until I know more.”
The krill responded to wild magic. She had the Staff of Law. And if she found Thomas Covenant among the Dead—
One way or another, she meant to end Jeremiah’s suffering.
Her answer appeared to satisfy Liand, although he did not relax his distrust of the Harrow.
“So how do we get across?” she asked Stave and Mahrtiir. “Can the Ranyhyn carry us? Is there a ford?”
She was already familiar with the prowess of the Giants. The weight of their armor and swords would not hinder them.
The Manethrall snorted at the mere suggestion that the horses might not be able to bear their riders through the river; and Stave said, “In Andelain, the current of the Soulsease is gentle. There will be no difficulty.”
As if to demonstrate his assertion, he sent Hynyn down the riverbank and into the water. For a few strides, Hynyn kept his footing. Then the stallion began to swim strongly.
Galt followed at once. Crossing the river, the company would be vulnerable. Clearly he and Stave meant to gain the south bank so that they could protect Linden and the others if the Harrow contemplated an attack.
“Swordmainnir!” called the Ironhand with a laugh. “Here is opportunity for refreshment. Never let it be said that Giants shun clear water and cleansing!”
At once, she plunged into the Soulsease with her comrades behind her, chuckling as they forged ahead. Without warning, Grueburn threw a splash of water in Cabledarm’s face. Stonemage responded by drenching Bluntfist. But their play did not slow them. In spite of their mirth, they carried their swords drawn.
Mahrtiir and Narunal entered the river after the Giants. Bhapa and Pahni, and then Clyme and Branl, positioned themselves around Linden, Liand, and Anele as they followed the Manethrall.
When the water hit Linden’s legs, she caught her breath. The Soulsease was colder than she had expected. But it did not resemble the winter which she had experienced with Roger and the croyel. The river was distilled springtime; the eagerness of fertility and flowing after winter’s long sleep. Its touch conveyed hints of the world’s renewal. And Hyn passed through it easily, thrusting ahead when her hooves could find the bottom, swimming with her head held high when they could not.
Surging up from the watercourse, Stave and Galt greeted the Harrow. If he granted them a reply, Linden did not hear it. Motionless on his destrier, he did not so much as incline his head to the Haruchai—or to the Swordmainnir when they splashed out of the river and surrounded him. “This is an un-looked-for meeting,” Coldspray announced. “Declare yourself, stranger.” But the Harrow’s answer—if he gave one—did not reach Linden. Encircled by swords, he appeared to do nothing except wait for the arrival of his desires.
A fading glow still held the sky as Hyn gained the riverbank; heaved herself and her rider out of the Soulsease. The evening was too early for stars. And the Harrow had placed himself beneath the outspread shadows of a broad oak at the water’s edge. Linden saw him as little more than a deeper blackness in the coming night. His leather apparel seemed to muffle or diffuse his aura; mask his intentions.
His destrier was more tangible. The beast was a gelding as massive and tall as Mhornym. It champed at its bit and fretted while its master sat without moving. Occasional quivers ran through its muscles like small galvanic shocks, jolts of excitement or terror. But its tension did not trouble the Harrow. Instead his mount’s disquiet only made him look more unpredictable and dangerous.
Stave and Mahrtiir moved to escort Linden as she advanced. The Soulsease had carried her eastward: she faced the Harrow with the last of the sunset in her eyes. Some of the Swordmainnir stepped aside to watch over Liand, Anele, and the Cords, but Coldspray, Grueburn, and Stonemage continued to confront the Insequent with their weapons ready.
Poised for battle, the Humbled regarded him impassively. He had already defeated them once. He had done so without difficulty. Yet Linden recognized that his physical strength did not equal theirs. His prowess was external in some fashion: an expression of acquired theurgy rather than of innate might. He wore his magicks like a form of raiment, as elaborate and distinctive as his leather garb.
When she reached the verge of the oak’s shade, she asked Hyn to stop. She wanted to keep her distance. She could not see his eyes, but she was sure that he could see hers—and those of her companions. He had vowed that he would not make a second attempt to swallow her mind. He had called on his fellow Insequent to ensure that he kept his word. However, he had not promised to refrain from threatening her friends.
Mahrtiir and Anele were safe. The intransigence of the Haruchai might protect them from a fall into the Harrow’s bottomless gaze. Even the Giants might be able to resist. But Liand, Bhapa, and Pahni had no defense. If the Harrow wanted leverage—
Time seemed to stretch as though it might tear. The darkness under the oak became all darkness despite the faint light beyond the shadows. The Giants shifted their feet, waiting for Linden to speak. The destrier stamped one hoof restively.
Linden secured her grip on the Staff. With one hand, she touched Covena
nt’s ring through the fabric of her shirt.
“Say something,” she demanded. “I’m here. It’s your move.”
The Harrow laughed softly. “Be welcome in Andelain, lady.” His voice held the fertile depth of damp loam. Unlike Esmer, he had suffered no apparent damage in their earlier struggle. “You will find much to delight and surprise you in this bourne of peace.”
He may have been mocking her.
“Don’t play games with me,” she retorted. “‘Peace’ isn’t one of your strengths. Get to the point.”
He laughed again, a low rustle like the sound of canvas sliding over stone. “Is it not sufficient that I am able to enter Andelain? Must I refrain from the enjoyment of loveliness because Kastenessen and the mere-son and your perished love’s scion cannot share my pleasure?”
Linden started to reply, then stopped herself. Roger was blocked from Andelain? And Esmer? She had hoped for that, but Esmer had not said so explicitly.
Then why did the Harrow hold back? He was in no danger of any kind. Why did he taunt her instead of bargaining?
Implied threats scraped across her nerves. At that moment, however, her certainty was greater than her alarm. She was so close to her goal—
Apart from Stave and the Humbled, all of her companions were taut, apprehensive; braced for danger. In spite of their concerns, she forced herself to relax her shoulders and breathe more slowly.
“All right,” she said as if she had become calm. “I’m confused. I know why you’re here. What I don’t know is how. Why didn’t the Wraiths stop you? Or the krill? If they can forbid Kastenessen, how did you get in?”
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