“The purpose of the ‘box,’ as you name it, was to blind the eyes of the Elohim. They are”—she searched visibly for a cautious description—“susceptible to such structures. Its nature interacted with their fluidity, enabling your companions to elude detection. Thus were you compelled to meet the crisis of the EarthBlood alone.”
Susceptible to such structures? Linden wondered. Roger had said essentially the same thing. And she had seen how the Elohim had reacted to Vain, who had been a construct of the ur-viles.
If Jeremiah’s talent could “blind” the Elohim, what else might it accomplish?
But there again Linden hit a barrier of comprehension. Her thoughts were too sequential: she could not gauge the implications of ideas or abilities which appeared to defy linear cause and effect. And she sensed that she was running out of time. Her other friends were coming—
Swallowing bafflement, she said carefully, “That’s something else I may never understand. Can you answer one more question?”
The older woman appeared to consult the evening air through the shutters of the window. Then she gave Linden a comfortable smile. “Assuredly. If the Mahdoubt may reply briefly.”
“We keep coming back to the Theomach and the Elohim,” Linden said at once. An Elohim had given warning of the croyel as well as the halfhand. “Is it true that your people are the shadow on the heart of the Elohim?” The Elohim had called themselves the heart of the Earth. And they had admitted that within the Earth’s heart, or their own, lay darkness. To account for her query, she added. “I’ve heard other explanations.”
Esmer had told her, The Elohim believe that they are equal to all things. This is false. Were it true, the Earth entire would exist in their image, and they would have no need to fear the rousing of the Worm of the World’s End. That is shadow enough to darken the heart of any being.
The Mahdoubt’s smile sagged, and she sighed. “My lady, the Theomach has given the Elohim cause to doubt their surquedry. Oh, assuredly. For that reason, many among the Mahdoubt’s race name him the greatest of all Insequent. Yet she deems that her kind are not a shadow cast by the unspoken Würd of the Elohim. Nor do the Insequent themselves cast such shadows. They are merely men and women who crave knowledge as diligently as the Elohim desire the sopor of self-contentment.
“In its fashion, my lady, your comprehension of these matters is as great as the Mahdoubt’s—or the Theomach’s. Assuredly so. Have you not grown familiar with shadows?” Her mismatched eyes searched Linden deeply. “And is your heart not filled with darkness still? You require no guidance to interpret the evils of the Earth, for you have encountered them within you.”
Involuntarily Linden squirmed. She had known Ravers: she recognized the nature of the passions which had driven her ever since she had coerced Roger Covenant and the croyel to reveal themselves. Her own shadow had responded to Gallows Howe. But she had gone beyond doubt, and did not question herself. Instead she chose to ignore the warning implicit in her companion’s reply.
“That’s probably true,” she said, dismissing the subject. She had confronted Lord Foul’s snares now. She would not fall into them again. “But I’m still confused about the details.
“How do I know the Theomach’s true name? Where did I hear it?”
The Insequent had made themselves important to her. She wanted to know their weaknesses.
But the Mahdoubt did not react as Linden expected—or hoped. Leaning forward intently, the woman braced her plump arms on her knees. In a voice that seemed to resonate strangely, although it was as soft as a whisper, she answered, “My lady, you have not inquired of the Mahdoubt’s true name.”
Instinctively Linden pressed her back against the stone at the head of the bed. The Staff of Law lay across her lap: white gold hung against her sternum: one hand gripped her son’s toy while the other held a sheet over her breasts. Yet she felt unexpectedly exposed and vulnerable, as if all of her inadequacies had been laid bare.
Whispering herself, she said, “I’m not convinced that I deserve to know. And I’m sure that I don’t have the right to ask. Your people don’t use titles instead of names by accident. When the Theomach does it, he’s hiding something. That makes me suspicious. But you’re my friend. You didn’t just save my life. You saved my reasons for living. Obviously you know all kinds of things that you’ve decided not to tell me. And I don’t care. I respect whatever you do. Or don’t do.”
The Mahdoubt’s orange eye burned at Linden; but her blue one seemed to plead, asking for sufferance—or for discretion. “Then the Mahdoubt will reveal that her true name is Quern Ehstrel. Thus she grants the power to compel her. And in return she requests both wisdom and restraint.”
No, Linden wanted to protest. Please. Don’t you understand that I’ll use you? I need every weapon I can get. But she had already missed her chance to forestall the older woman’s gift.
Suddenly hoarse with chagrin, she asked. “Is that why the Insequent hide their true names? Because they can be compelled?”
If so, she understood their loyalty to each other. The Insequent had too much power over their own people. Without loyalty, none of them would survive.
But the Mahdoubt did not respond directly. Instead she rose to her feet, pushing herself upward with her hands on her knees. Her gaze she turned away, although she was smiling fondly.
“My lady, those who have claimed your friendship draw nigh. The Mahdoubt must now depart. Her time of service to Revelstone is ended, for she awaited only the lady.
“Your raiment has been prepared.” She nodded toward the bathroom. “And she has placed a tray before the hearth, for she does not doubt that you are hungry.
“If you will permit the Mahdoubt a last word of counsel”—she gave Linden a teasing sidelong glance—“you will clothe yourself ere your companions attend upon you. Oh, assuredly. If you do not, you will disturb their wits.”
Without thinking, Linden surged up from her bed; dropped the Staff as well as her sheet so that she could fling her arms around the Mahdoubt. Her heart was not too hard to be touched. She had spent years starving for some embrace—She did not want power over her friend; yet it had been given to her freely. She knew no other language for her gratitude.
The Mahdoubt returned Linden’s hug briefly. Then she stepped back. “Pssht, my lady.” Her voice was redolent with affection. “The Mahdoubt merely departs. She does not pass away. Will you encounter her again? Be assured of it. It is as certain—”
“—as the rising and setting of the sun,” finished Linden. She wanted to smile, but could not. Even when her other friends arrived, she would be effectively alone without the Mahdoubt. Liand, Stave, Anele, and the Ramen: none of them would understand what had happened to her as the Mahdoubt did. “And by then I’ll probably have even more reasons to be grateful.”
The Mahdoubt bowed over her girth. “Then all is well,” she murmured, “while the sun continues in its course.”
With her head still lowered, she left the bedroom.
Dry-eyed and aching, Linden turned away so that she would not witness the Insequent’s departure. She did not hear the outer door of her rooms open or close. Nevertheless she felt the older woman’s sudden absence as if the Mahdoubt had stepped into a gap between instants and slipped out of time.
Shaken, Linden went into the bathroom. While she washed and dried her face, donned her well-scrubbed clothes, and tucked Jeremiah’s toy deep into one pocket, she willed herself to shed at least a few tears of thanks and sadness. But she could not. Under Melenkurion Skyweir, her capacity for weeping had been burned away.
3. Tales Among Friends
Linden was eating cheese, grapes, and cold mutton, and washing them down with draughts of Glimmermere’s roborant, when she heard Liand knock at her door. She recognized his touch through the heavy granite by its mingled eagerness and anxiety; and she stood up at once to answer, although the door was not latched. She was eager and anxious herself. Among a host of other things, she
did not know how long she had been gone from Revelstone, or how Lord’s Keep had fared against the Demondim; and she needed confirmation that her friends were unharmed.
As she opened the door, Liand burst unceremoniously into the room. He may have assumed that he would be met—and thwarted—by the Mahdoubt. When he caught sight of Linden, however, his open face seemed to catch light. His eyes shone with pleasure, and his black brows soared. At once, he wrapped her in a fierce, brief hug. Then he stepped back, simultaneously abashed and glowing.
“Linden,” he breathed as if his throat were too crowded with emotion for any other words. “Oh, Linden.”
Behind him, Manethrall Mahrtiir swept in, avid as a hawk. Standing before Linden, he gave her a deep Ramen bow, with his arms extended toward her on either side of his head, and his palms outward. His garrote bound his hair, and a garland of fresh amanibhavam hung about his neck. The sharp scent of the flowers emphasized his edged tone as he said, “Ringthane, you are well returned—and well restored. When first you appeared, we feared for you, though the Mahdoubt and our own discernment gave assurance that you required only rest. Our troubled hearts are now made glad.”
Mahrtiir’s accustomed sternness made his greeting seem almost effusive; but Linden had no time to reply. Bhapa and Pahni followed their Manethrall, bowing as well. The older Cord’s eyes were moist and grateful: an unwonted display of emotion for a Raman. But Pahni’s plain joy was more complex. She appeared to feel more than one kind of happiness, as if her delight at Linden’s recovery subsumed a deeper and more private gladness. And Linden detected a secret undercurrent of concern.
Leading Anele by the arm, Stave entered behind the Ramen. The old man suffered Stave’s touch without discomfort: apparently even he understood that the Haruchai was no longer a Master. His moonstone gaze passed over Linden as if he were unaware of her. Instead of acknowledging her, he shook off Stave’s hand, strode over to the tray of food, sat down, and began to eat as if his decades of privation had left him perpetually hungry.
Stave responded to Anele’s behavior with a delicate shrug. Then he faced Linden and bowed. His flat features and impassive mien revealed nothing: she still could not read him. But his remaining eye held an unfamiliar brightness; and she guessed that her absence had been uniquely harsh for him. No doubt he judged himself severely for failing to protect her. In addition, however, he had sacrificed more in her name than any of her other friends. Liand had turned his back on his home, and the Ramen had left behind their lives among their people; but Stave had been effectively excommunicated by his kinsmen.
All of his wounds were long healed. In the place of his torn and soiled garment, he wore a clean tunic. Only his missing eye betrayed the scale of his losses.
Linden gazed at all of her companions with affection and relief. Often in her life, she had felt that she wept too easily. Now she regretted that she had no tears to show her friends how she felt about them. She could see that none of them had been harmed while she was away.
But she did not return Stave’s bow, or those of the Ramen. She did not reply to Liand or Mahrtiir. They had not come into her rooms alone: two of the Humbled had followed them. Galt and Clyme stood poised on either side of the open door as if they suspected her of some insidious betrayal.
Many of the Masters had been slaughtered by the Demondim. More may have suffered in the battle between Esmer and the ur-viles. And they had not interfered with Linden’s attack on the horde’s caesure. But she had not forgotten what they had done to the people of the Land, or how they had refused her own pleading. And she would not forgive their repudiation of Stave. She remembered their blows as though her own body had been struck.
“Stave,” she asked as though she stood on Gallows Howe and desired bloodshed, “what’s going on?”
“Chosen,” he relied flatly. “they are chary of me.”
Surprised, she demanded, “You mean that they don’t think they’ve punished you enough?”
Stave shook his head. “As you know, my people will no longer address their thoughts to me, or respond to mine. When I had experienced their rejection for a time, I found that I wished to foil it. Though I comprehend their denunciation, I became loath to countenance it. Therefore I have learned to mute my inward voice. I hear the silent speech of the Masters, but they do not hear mine.”
While Linden stared at him, he continued, “Formerly the Humbled might remain in the passage with the door sealed, and yet would know all that I heard and said and thought. But now my mind is hidden from them. If they do not stand in your presence, they will learn nothing of your tale or your purposes, for they judge rightly that I will not reveal you to them.”
“Stave—” His explanation filled her with such wonder that she could hardly find words. “Anyone who makes the mistake of underestimating you deserves what happens.” Then she fought down her awe and ire. “The Land has had some great heroes. I’ve known a few myself,” too many to bear. “But you—all of you”—she looked around at Liand, Anele, and the Ramen—“could hold your heads up in any company.”
Then she faced Stave again. Articulating each word precisely, she said, “But I can’t talk in front of these halfhands.” What had happened to her was too personal. “I need them to wait outside. I know this is a lot to ask. And I’ll understand if you don’t want to do it. But I hope that you’ll agree to answer their questions after we’re done here. Assure them that you’ll tell them whatever they need to know.”
The Haruchai raised an eyebrow; but he did not object. Instead he glanced at Clyme and Galt. Without inflection, he said, “The Chosen has spoken. I will comply. You may depart.”
As he spoke, Linden folded her arms across her chest to conceal her fists. Glaring, she dared the Humbled to believe that Stave would not abide by his word.
They considered her for a moment. Then Galt countered. “And if his judgment differs from ours, concealing that which we would deem necessary? What then?”
Linden did not hesitate. “You’re forgetting something.” She had beaten back Roger Covenant and the croyel and Lord Foul’s manipulations. She had met Berek Halfhand and Damelon Giantfriend and the Theomach, the greatest of all Insequent. Caerroil Wildwood had given runes to her Staff. The Mahdoubt had crossed ten millennia to rescue her. She felt no impulse to doubt herself, or falter. “The Land needs you. Even I need you. I’m still hoping that something will persuade you to help me. And Stave knows how you think. He won’t withhold anything that matters to you.”
Still neither of the Humbled moved. “You speak of us as ‘halfhands,’” observed Clyme. “That name we accept, for we have claimed it in long combat, and our purpose among the Masters is honorable. But is it your belief that we are ‘the halfhand’ of whom the Elohim sought to forewarn the people of the Land?”
She sighed, gripping herself tightly. “No. I know better.”
Galt, Branl, and Clyme represented that aspect of the Masters which might cause them to stand stubbornly aside when they were most needed. But she had seen the truth of Roger and the croyel. And Kastenessen himself might now be considered a halfhand. She was sure that the Elohim did not fear the Humbled.
For a moment longer, Clyme and Galt appeared to consult the air of the chamber, or perhaps the larger atmosphere of Revelstone. Then they left the room without further argument, closing the door behind them.
At last, Linden bowed to Stave. “Thank you.” When the Humbled were gone, some of her tension eased. She was finally able to look at her friends and smile.
Because Liand was the least reserved among them, and his apprehensions darkened his eyes, she faced him, although she spoke to the Ramen and Stave as well. “Please don’t misunderstand,” she urged with as much warmth as she could muster. “I probably don’t look happy to be back. But I am. It’s just that I’ve been through things that I don’t even know how to describe. For a while there, I didn’t think that I would ever see any of you again.” Her voice held steady when it should have quiv
ered. “If the Mahdoubt hadn’t saved me, I would be as good as dead.”
The young Stonedownor’s face brimmed with questions. Linden held up her hand to forestall them.
“But now I know what I have to do. That’s what you see in me,” instead of gladness. “I was betrayed, and I’ve gone so far beyond anger that I might not come back. I want to hear what’s happened to all of you. I need to know how long I’ve been gone, and what the Demondim are doing. Then I have to find a way to leave Revelstone.” Trying to be clear, she finished, “I’ve been too passive. I’m tired of it. I want to start doing things that our enemies don’t expect.”
She was not surprised by Stave’s blunt nod, or by the sudden ferocity of Mahrtiir’s grin. And she took for granted that the Cords would follow their Manethrall in spite of their reasons for alarm, the ominous prophecies which they had heard from Anele. But Linden had expected doubt and worry from Liand: she was not prepared for the immediate excitement that brightened his gentle eyes. And Anele’s reaction actively startled her.
Swallowing a lump of mutton, he jumped to his feet. In a loud voice, he announced, “Anele no longer fears the creatures, the lost ones.” His head jerked from side to side as if he were searching for something. “He fears to remember. Oh, that he fears.” With one hand, he beckoned sharply to Liand, although he seemed unaware of the gesture. “And the Masters must be fled. So he proclaims to all who will heed him.
“But the others—” Abruptly his voice sank to a whisper. “They speak in Anele’s dreams. Their voices he fears more than horror and recrimination.”
His madness was visible in every line of his emaciated form. To some extent, however, it was vitiated by the fact that he stood on wrought stone. Here as on Kevin’s Watch, or in his gaol in Mithil Stonedown, he referred to himself as if he were someone else; but shaped or worn rock occasionally enabled him to respond with oblique poignancy to what was said and done around him.
Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant 02 - Fatal Revenant Page 49