But eventually the snorts and snuffles of horses cropping grass prodded her to wonder how much time had passed. Motionless so she would not disturb Covenant, she extended her senses beyond the Forestal’s bedizened canopy, and was surprised to discern that dawn was near: the feigned dawn of a sunless day. The fourth day—was it really the fourth?—since the sun had failed to rise.
Her companions had left her alone with Covenant for most of the night. Even Jeremiah—
Curious now, Linden raised her head to look around.
Melodies gemmed the leaves overhead as if they had been set in place to watch over her and Covenant; but of Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir there was no sign. He had hidden himself in the fecund intricacies of his hymns. Apart from the horses, she saw only the broad trunk of the tree, and beyond it the fane of the Elohim.
Groaning softly, Covenant blinked his eyes open. When his gaze found Linden, he tried to smile: an awkward twist of his mouth. In the delicate light of the Forestal’s music, the pale scar on his forehead seemed to glow. It might have been a nascent anadem, an old wound that was slowly becoming a crown. The stark silver of his hair promised flames.
Remembering his ardor, she felt a delicious shiver like an intimation of the life that she wanted to have with him.
An impossible life while the Worm stalked the World’s End, and Lord Foul plotted to reclaim Jeremiah.
Covenant propped himself up on his elbows and looked her over with yearning in his eyes. He seemed to desire every contour. Then he frowned ruefully. Nodding toward the Ranyhyn and Mishio Massima, he muttered in mock-disgust, “I probably shouldn’t say this, Linden, but I don’t really like horses.”
She laughed softly. “Neither do I.” He made her name sound like a cherished endearment. “But I’m very fond of Hyn,” she added in case the mare understood her. “And Khelen, of course.”
How could she feel anything other than affection for them?
As if her response were a cue, Jeremiah called from within the fane, “Mom? Can we come out? We’re hungry. You have all the aliantha.”
She was on the verge of saying, Sure, honey, when she remembered that she was naked.
Stifling a giggle, she answered, “Give us a minute.” She looked at Covenant, offered him a lop-sided smile, kissed him swiftly. Then she reached for her clothes.
“Hellfire,” he growled under his breath. “Bloody damnation.”
He had not had enough of peace and privacy, or of her.
She pulled up her jeans, buttoned her shirt without regarding its tears and snags, its neat hole over her heart. Leaving her feet bare to enjoy the lush grass a little longer, she retrieved her Staff. Then she paused to study Covenant.
His leprosy had worsened in recent days. A slight haze occluded his vision. She suspected that he could not see clearly past twenty or thirty paces. And the numbness of his fingers stretched into his palms toward his wrists. His toes, and patches on the soles of his feet, had no sensation. Now the end of Kevin’s Dirt had halted his deterioration. She found no indication that his symptoms were still spreading. Nevertheless he was farther from health than he had been when she had first resurrected him.
He fumbled into his jeans, worked his T-shirt over his head. While he tugged at the laces of his boots, she asked tentatively, “Do you want any help, Thomas? I can heal—”
He hesitated for a moment, scowled, then shook his head. “Thanks anyway. I can see well enough.” He seemed to mean, Well enough for what I have to do. “And I need my hands like this. The krill gets hot. If I’m in too much pain, I won’t be able to hold it.”
She considered asking, Why is that important? How much do you know about what we have to do? But she rejected the idea. She did not want an answer: not really. She was in no hurry to think about the Despiser and the World’s End.
Covenant gave her a look full of hunger. Then he shrugged and nodded his readiness.
Holding his gaze, she raised her voice. “Come on out, Jeremiah. All of you. It’s time.”
At once, Jeremiah emerged from the temple. The sight of him both lifted and soured Linden’s spirit. The emotions clenched inside him showed in his aura. He could smile because she had come back for him, and because she and Covenant were finally united—and because he had been able to sleep. But the effects of Kastenessen’s possession persisted: he did not know how to relieve them. And he had accomplished his one purpose. In the aftermath, he had lost the eagerness of his talent, the excitement which had driven and protected him. His ruined pajamas and his muddy gaze made him look haunted.
Behind him loomed the Swordmainnir, grinning. Sleep and gladness had refreshed them, and their eyes as they regarded Linden and Covenant seemed to glow with warmth.
Rime Coldspray approached first, followed by Cirrus Kindwind, and then by Cabledarm brimming with restored wholeness. The other women carried their depleted waterskins. Among them, Stave walked like a man who had never been harmed.
Covenant rose from the grass to greet them. With a mixture of pleasure and regret, he said gruffly, “I should probably thank you. But I’m sure you can understand that one night just isn’t enough.” He touched Linden’s shoulder briefly. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for this my whole life, and now it’s over”—he grimaced—“unless we can do things that are even more unlikely than what we’ve already done.” Glowering like a man who did not know how to smile, he finished, “Just once, I would like to face a challenge that turns out to be easy.”
Linden smiled for him. He had given her another gift to counterbalance the night’s passing. Indirectly, perhaps, but unmistakably, he had already reassumed his rightful place as the leader of the Land’s defenders.
“Yet betimes, Timewarden,” replied the Ironhand, “we are granted ease. To behold you and Linden Giantfriend as you are does not test my heart. It gives only joy.”
Covenant ducked his head. “Maybe that’s why I’ve always loved Giants. You remind me—” He spread his hands as if he had run out of words.
Linden guessed that he was recalling Saltheart Foamfollower; or perhaps Pitchwife and the First of the Search.
But other matters quickly claimed the attention of the Swordmainnir. They were hungry, of course. And they knew as well as Linden did, or Covenant, that all of the company’s deeds so far were only stopgaps. Branl outside the bower would have given warning of any imminent threat; but every peril was growing, and time was running out. With both pleasure and rue, the Ironhand and her comrades turned to Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir’s abundance of aliantha and clean water.
Before Jeremiah could join them, Linden stopped him with a hug. “Can we talk, honey?” she asked privately. “I haven’t had a chance to hear how you’re handling what you’ve been through.”
He avoided her gaze. “There isn’t much to tell, Mom. The Giants and Stave did everything. I mean, pretty much. All I did was organize the pieces and make sure they fit.”
She recognized the deflection in his voice, but she did not question it. Instead she insisted mildly, “I still want to hear about it. This may sound strange, but you probably know me better than I know you. You’ve been my son for years, but I feel like we’ve just met. I want to understand how you think. Just give me a minute to finish getting dressed.”
The boy acceded with a glum nod.
Covenant left her with Jeremiah, but he did not follow the example of the Giants. While she pulled on her socks and boots, he asked Stave abruptly, “Is Branl saying anything?”
Stave faced the Unbeliever with his customary lack of expression. “Ur-Lord, the storm of the Worm’s coming approaches. He gauges that an hour remains ere we must flee its ravages.” The former Master glanced away briefly before adding, “Should the Worm quicken its rush, we will receive warning.”
“Well, damn,” Covenant muttered. “I should probably be glad. At least that thing isn’t heading for Mount Thunder. But it’s hungry. It’s going to hit hard when it gets here.”
Scowling, he went to the brook fo
r water. Then he moved toward the nearest shrub and began to eat.
Linden winced to herself. Covenant had seen the Worm before: she had not. But she imagined that it was huge and virulent—and she had no idea whether the Forestal would be able to stand against it. The fact that the Elohim were no longer physically present in this manifestation of reality might lessen the Worm’s impulse to overwhelm Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir. Or deprivation might make the instrument of the World’s End savage.
More savage than it was already.
She swallowed an urge to look outside the willow, confirm Branl’s perceptions for herself. The Humbled was not likely to be mistaken. And her concern for her son was more immediate.
There are worse things than being afraid, Mom. Being useless is worse.
As far as she knew, a sense of purpose was all that had defended him against the cost of his emotional wounds. Now he had nothing to build—and perhaps nothing to hope for.
If so, she knew the feeling. But she had her faith in Covenant to steady her. And long ago, she had been assured, You will not fail—She wanted to share those gifts with Jeremiah if she could. They were better than despair.
Praying that she would be able to give him what he needed, she beckoned. “Come on, Jeremiah, honey. Let’s go into your temple. We can be alone there.”
He flinched. He seemed to hide behind the silted hue of his eyes. His manner said, No, although he did not refuse aloud.
“I know that you don’t want to talk,” she offered patiently. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But I’m your mother. Worrying about their children is what mothers do.
“Come on,” she repeated. “If you help me understand, you might find that you feel less alone.”
Jeremiah opened his mouth, closed it again. He looked around at the Giants, and then at Covenant, as if he hoped that one of them would intervene. But the women only nodded encouragement; and Covenant’s attention was elsewhere.
The boy avoided Linden’s gaze. Looking truculent and defensive, he joined her. When she turned past the willow trunk toward the fane’s opening, he followed, scuffing his feet in protest.
Inside the construct, she found bare dirt between crooked walls supporting a ceiling that looked like it might fall on her at any moment. Gaps among the stones let patches of Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir’s shining into the gloom, but that glow did not lift the shadows from Jeremiah’s mien. He might have been little more than an emblem of the deeper night awaiting the Earth.
Facing him, she put the Worm out of her mind; braced herself to concentrate on her son. He could not rid himself of his demons if he did not acknowledge them.
He began before she could choose a question. “I don’t know what you think we have to talk about. I already told you. The Giants and Stave did practically everything. After that—” A scowl concentrated his features. Its tightness reminded her of the twitch at the corner of his eye when Roger and the croyel had lured her into the past. “They must have said what happened. The Elohim came. So did Kastenessen. Then Covenant showed up. Infelice took Kastenessen with her.
“That’s it. That’s all there is. The rest was just waiting for you and trying not to think you were dead.” From his fists, small flames squeezed between his fingers. A caper of yellow light and shadows up and down his body made him look lurid. As if he were pleading, he added, “Nothing else matters.”
Linden waited until he started to squirm under the pressure of her regard. Then she folded her arms over the Staff of Law, held it against her heart, and tried to be gentle.
“Jeremiah, honey. This isn’t doing you any good. I’m your mother. I know that there’s more. But there’s something that you don’t know about me.”
Her years at Berenford Memorial had taught her more than one way to probe the people who needed her.
“I’m more like you than you think. There were a lot of things that I refused to talk about. I kept them secret. That hurt me, of course, but I could live with it. The part that I didn’t understand”—the part that she had been fatally slow to recognize—“was that I hurt my friends at the same time.
“Now I don’t want any more secrets. I kept mine too long, and I finally learned something about them.”
While he stared at her, she told him the truth as if she were tearing away the scab from an unhealed wound.
“They feel like they protect us—like we don’t have to be ashamed of our secrets, or ashamed of ourselves, as long as no one knows about them. We tell ourselves that we’re doing the right thing by keeping them. But that isn’t true. Mostly we keep them because we don’t trust the people who love us. And that’s just another way of saying that we don’t trust ourselves. We really are ashamed. We think that we’re at fault and we’re going to be condemned, or that we’re weak when everyone else is strong, or that we actually deserve to be in pain and alone.
“My secrets were different than yours,” she confessed. “Of course they were. They’re probably even more shameful. And they hurt everything and everyone that I love.”
Every death caused by the Worm, every instance of destruction, was her doing: the loss of the sun; the reaving of the heavens. She was only able to live with that fact because Covenant loved her—and because her son’s mind had been restored—and because she had friends. And because she did not know what else she could have done.
In spite of Jeremiah’s defenses, she reached him. She felt his sudden uncertainty—his alarm—as if it were physically solid. In some ways, he was indeed younger than his years. Hearing his mother accuse herself made him feel threatened. For years, she had been his foundation. Now he could not be sure of her.
“Like what?” he asked in a taut voice. “What did you keep secret?”
From his perspective, there were too many possibilities. Most of them had the power to undermine him.
Linden did not hesitate; but she could not keep the harshness out of her voice, the implied savagery.
“Resurrecting Thomas. I knew that I was going to break every Law the Earth absolutely needs to survive, but I kept what I had in mind to myself.” —compelled by rage, and contemptuous of consequence. “I made sure that no one had a chance to stop me. Now it isn’t just the world that’s doomed. As soon as the Worm gets to the EarthBlood, Lord Foul will be able to escape.
“I did that, Jeremiah.
“But I didn’t keep what I was going to do secret because I wanted those things to happen. I didn’t think about the danger at all. I kept it secret because I was afraid that my friends would interfere. I didn’t trust them enough to believe that they would understand, or that they would still be my friends if they knew the truth. And I felt that way because I was ashamed. I was ashamed of not protecting you from Roger in the first place. I was ashamed of letting him and the croyel trick me.
“We’re in this mess right now because I kept secrets.”
Jeremiah nodded, but he seemed unaware of his own response. His eyes were full of dismay. He sounded small and inexpressibly forlorn as he admitted, “I hate what’s happened to me. I hate how dirty the croyel made me feel. I could hide from the pain. I knew how to do that.” He had concealed himself for most of his life. “But I couldn’t hide from all that sneering.
“And I hated the way it made me hurt you. I couldn’t prevent anything. I hated being too weak to stop it. I wanted to hurt myself, not you.” Under Melenkurion Skyweir, he had stabbed her hand—“But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”
Facing his unshielded need, Linden fought down her yearning to put her arms around him. He was both a child and a young man; but it was the young man who most needed her succor. The child understood too well how to bury himself away. The young man was the Jeremiah who would have to face what was coming. And that Jeremiah would not be consoled by hugs.
But he was not done. As if he were cutting himself, he said, “Then Kastenessen took me, and I was helpless again. He reached out and took me like I was nothing. Good for nothing. Useless. And I felt how he felt. He
burned every nerve in my whole body until I thought I loved it. I thought it made sense.
“I’m ashamed of that. I should be. I wanted him dead—I want Lord Foul dead—so I don’t have to be ashamed anymore. And I don’t want to talk about it because talking just makes it more real. It just tells everybody how useless I am.”
For a moment, Linden could not respond. Kastenessen had taken him? She nearly cried out. Covenant had not told her. No one had warned her.
Her son must have inherited more than Earthpower from Anele.
I want Lord Foul dead. How else did she expect him to feel? She had once been possessed herself. The force of her own desire to see the Despiser’s end made her tremble.
Nevertheless she had to offer Jeremiah something. She had to try.
Hoarse with empathy and suppressed outrage, she asked, “Don’t you think that maybe we all feel that way? He’s the Despiser. He’s spent eons doing as much harm as he can to the whole world. Don’t you think that maybe everyone you know wishes he could be destroyed?”
Quick as a slash, Jeremiah retorted, “But you aren’t useless! Covenant isn’t. The Giants are strong. Stave and Branl are strong. Covenant has his ring. You have a ring and the Staff of Law. I’ve already used up everything I know how to do. Now I’m just nothing.”
It was too much. Without pausing to consider what she said, Linden snapped, “That’s how I feel. I’ve already used up everything I know how to do.” Before he could protest or withdraw, she explained, “Oh, I understand what you’re saying. And you’re right. Of course you are. There are probably all kinds of things I can do that you can’t. But, Jeremiah, I don’t know what they are. I’ve done everything I can think of. It doesn’t matter how much power I have because I have no idea what to do with it.” Her son also had power. “Compared to the Worm—hell, compared to the Despiser—I’m as useless as you feel.” Deliberately she made her heart as naked as his. “We have the same problem. What’s happening is too big for us. It’s just too big.”
Jeremiah did not look at her. He stood half turned away like a boy who wanted to run and hide; a boy who already knew where he could go to feel safe. But he did not go. She felt his attention cling to her while his fears and his pain urged him to flee.
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