“For these reasons, I will speak first, in gratitude and acknowledgment.”
Around the clearing, Manethralls and Cords nodded their acquiescence. And Linden nodded as well, although she had not been asked for her assent. She was simply glad that she would not be required to account for herself before she knew what was at stake.
“I will speak briefly, however,” Hami promised, “as our lives are brief, for the matters which must be resolved here are urgent and compelling.
“This place we name the Verge of Wandering.” Her words may have been meant for Linden, but she gave them to the whole assembly. “It is here that the Ramen first gathered when the Sunbane had driven us from the Plains of Ra. Here we considered how we might fulfill the meaning of our lives in exile.”
Hami paused to drop a faggot or two onto the campfire so that its flames rose higher. As she continued, her voice became bleak, almost desolate, devoid of the nickering inflections which occasionally enlivened it.
“Twice before, we had fled the Land, but now there were no Lords to promise us an ending. As we withdrew to this place, we prayed that one day the Sunbane would be quenched—that the Ringthane or another like him would arise to again cast down the Render—but our hopes did not console us. We could see no outcome to the Sunbane except extinction.”
Now her desolation was unmistakable. Recalled loss ached in her words.
“Our memories were long then, as they are now. Here we told the tale of ourselves, and found that the toll of bloodshed had become greater than we could countenance. The Render had exacted too much death. His slaying of the Ranyhyn must cease.
“Therefore we determined that we would never again subject the meaning of our lives to Fangthane’s ravage.”
The Manethrall sighed. “Yet we had no power against him, no means by which we might end his malice. We could not impose the relief we craved.” The muscles at the corners of her jaw bunched with remembered resolve. “For that reason, we swore then, as each generation has sworn anew, that we would not return to the Plains of Ra until the Land’s foe had met his last doom, and would nevermore arise to shed the blood of Ranyhyn.”
Linden listened with growing discomfort. The Ramen were as draconian as the Haruchai, as absolute in their judgments. Both people rejected the reality of Lord Foul’s malevolence and the Land’s vulnerability. Where the Masters sought to alter that reality, however, the Ramen had simply turned their backs on it.
Compared to the stance which the Haruchai had chosen, that of the Ramen was more human; certainly less ambitious. Nevertheless it disturbed Linden profoundly. The Land would never be saved by people who believed and judged as the Ramen did.
She feared suddenly that her need for help had misled her; that the Ramen were not the allies she required. Even the intransigence of the Masters might be of more use to her.
Still Hami continued her tale. However, her tone had eased. The memories she described now did not hold as much hurt.
“Thus this place became the Verge of Wandering, the northernmost limit of our exile. From this valley, we found our way southward among the mountains, sojourning by decades and centuries among strange and distant lands, living as nomads among peoples who knew nothing of the Land and Fangthane. Perhaps at another time we will speak of such things. For the present, I will say merely that we found no home there. But neither have we returned to the Land.
“Once in each generation, however, we visit the Verge of Wandering. Here we remain for a season, or a year, or for several years, scouting the Land until we have discovered that Fangthane yet lives—that the Land has not yet been healed of evil. Then we depart to wander again.
“For a hundred generations and more, no Ramen has set foot beyond these mountains, except to observe the life of the Land, and to carry word.”
And do you like what you see? Linden might have asked. Has the life of the Land become better since you abandoned it? Have you made it better? But she said nothing. She was out of her depth, and knew it.
The things that Hami had not said were as loud in the darkened gathering as those she had. Where were the children of the Ramen? The old people?
Where were the Ranyhyn?
Then the Manethrall’s voice took on a new edge, a sound of keen wrath. For the first time, her tale implied challenges.
“Once in each generation, therefore, we have witnessed the rise of the Masters in the Land, the men who were formerly the sleepless ones, the Bloodguard. We have discerned no sign of Lords, or of other powers, that might bring about Fangthane’s end. Instead we have watched with growing anger, generation after generation, as those who once served the Lords now name themselves Masters and do nothing.
“The Land is in their care, and in their care it has been made helpless. Now the Render flourishes once again, and there are only Masters to oppose him.
“We have known the Bloodguard. We have seen them turned to Fangthane’s service. We know that they do not suffice.”
Threats seemed to mount around the clearing as Hami spoke. The ancient animosity of the Ramen toward the Bloodguard had been vindicated by the attitude of the Masters.
“At last, however, a new Ringthane stands among us. Because she is here, we might feel hope. But because the Masters are also here, we fear that she will be thwarted.”
In that, at least, Linden understood Hami perfectly.
“The Ramen have kept faith,” the Manethrall concluded severely. “What have the Masters done? How will Linden Avery bear the burden of wild magic against the Render, when the Masters have quelled any strength which might have aided her?
“These questions, and more, we will have answered.”
For a moment, silence greeted her demand. Ramen nodded to themselves, and to her, grimly. They seemed to feel their exile as if they had experienced the loss themselves, although they had known no other life but wandering. Their tales had the force of commandments, compulsory beyond the limits of flesh and time.
Concentrating on Hami, Linden sensed rather than saw Stave surge erect in the circle where he had been sitting.
“Do you claim the right to challenge us?” he replied flatly. He may have been full of ire and repudiation, but he did not show it. His hard form revealed only that he could not be swayed. “I also claim that right. My questions also require answers.”
His tone was calm. Nonetheless it drew tension from the Ramen like the touch of a flail.
“Manethrall,” he continued, “you speak harshly of the Masters, but you say little of the Ranyhyn. Did you not guide them into exile? And are they not the meaning of your lives? Why then are they absent from this place?
“What has become of them? How are you able to avow that you have kept faith with the past, if you have not been true to the great horses of Ra?”
No. Linden reached her feet without realizing that she had moved. She was fed up with people who never forgave, the Ramen as much as the Haruchai. They shared a combustible pride, as sensitive as tinder, primed for conflagration. If she did not intervene, they might strike blows which they would never be able to take back.
And she was suddenly furious. Lord Foul held Jeremiah. Like the Land, he would never be saved by people who gave ancient grievances precedence over their immediate peril and responsibility.
“Sleepless one,” Hami countered, “I am done speaking.” She held her garrote taut between her fists: it seemed to have appeared there without transition. “It is you who will answer here.”
“No. Wait a minute.” Fighting to quiet her heart, Linden confronted Stave across the circles. “Don’t say a word. Please. Whether your people are right or wrong—it doesn’t matter. It makes no difference. Not here. The Ramen don’t know why you became Masters. They can’t evaluate your reasons. And you’re only here because of me.” Because she had fled from Mithil Stonedown. “If they have questions, I’ll answer them.”
Facing her without expression, Stave opened and closed his fingers deliberately, cocked one eyebrow—an
d said nothing. Instead he shrugged as though he recognized that she had told him the simple truth.
Gratitude for his restraint helped Linden manage her anger as she turned to Manethrall Hami. “If you want to challenge someone,” she told Hami, “challenge me. My companions are under my protection. All of them.”
Leaving her place in the circle, she approached the campfire until she stood near enough to see every spark and shadow in the Manethrall’s face; near enough to let Hami gauge her honesty as accurately as the woman’s senses allowed.
“When Covenant came back to the Land to fight the Sunbane, I was with him. We would have failed if the Haruchai hadn’t helped us. I owe them a debt I’ll never be able to repay.
“I know you have grievances. Old ones. I understand that. And I understand your distrust. I’ll answer your questions, anything you want to ask me. But tell me one thing first. Please.”
Hami frowned sternly across the flames. She seemed reluctant to set aside her belligerence toward Stave. Yet her desire to trust Linden was plain: Linden could see it in her. After a moment, she conceded stiffly, “If I may.”
If Linden’s question did not exceed the limits of what the Ramen were willing to reveal.
Still wrestling with her own outrage, and trembling with effort, Linden said harshly, “Lord Foul has come back, that’s obvious. You’ve seen Kevin’s Dirt. You’ve seen caesures. It’s your return I don’t understand.
“You say you scout the Land ‘once in each generation.’ But how did you happen to pick this year? This season?” Had the Ramen been told that she would appear? Had the ur-viles forewarned them? “A generation is a long time. You could have come last year—or next year.” If they had, she and her companions would probably have died. “But you didn’t. Instead you’re here now.
“How did that happen?”
Linden closed her eyes briefly, praying for an explanation that she would be able to accept. She needed to gain as much comprehension as she could before the Ramen put her to the test. Then she looked at Hami again.
There is darkness nigh. Perhaps it lives among the Ramen, concealing itself from their discernment.
Hami appeared to consider the question. Linden half expected her to consult with her fellow Manethralls, but she did not. Apparently she could be sure that her people would support her, whatever decision she made.
Finally she nodded. “In sooth, Ringthane,” she replied, “we have not come by happenstance. We are a decade and more ahead of our appointed time. However, two events persuaded us from our wonted round. The first I may relate.”
The Manethrall paused as if to compose herself, then began.
“Perhaps half a generation ago, in an unpeopled woodland many leagues to the south and west, a strange being came among us. His power must have been great, for we descried nothing of his approach or presence until he stood before us.” This point seemed important to Hami: her pride insisted on it. “Skills and senses which would have acknowledged an unfamiliar butterfly within a league of our camp caught no sign of the stranger until he deigned to make himself known to us.
“He offered us no harm, and therefore we acted similarly, though we misliked him at once, for his mien was haughty, and he appeared to hold us in scant regard.” Hami’s voice was tight with disapproval. “His raiment was of sandaline, without shade or tint, and his eyes held the coldness of gemstones. When we had granted him welcome, he said that he intended to forewarn us.”
A chill ran down Linden’s spine. She knew what was coming.
“He named himself one of the Elohim, dispatched by his people in their distant land to speak of perils which stalked the Land from the ends of the Earth.”
Behind her in the clearing, Linden heard Liand catch his breath; whisper her name. Silence held the rest of the gathering, however, and Hami did not heed the Stonedownor.
“He said nothing of Fangthane, nor did he speak any of the other names by which the Render is known. Rather he cited croyel, merewives, Sandgorgons, skurj, and other creatures or beings of which we have no knowledge. When we pressed him to account for them, he refused disdainfully. His purpose, he averred, was to prepare the way, not to amend our shortcomings. Instead he instructed us to ‘Beware the halfhand.’ With the coming of the halfhand, the Earth would suffer its most dire peril, and if we cared aught for our home we would return to the Land’s defense.”
The Manethrall snarled at her memories. “Remembering the legends of Berek Halfhand as well as the great victory of Covenant Ringthane, we took offense that the stranger had spoken so. Because he offered no harm, we did not drive him from us. Nevertheless we invited him to depart, for he declined to honor those whose valor and worth exceeded his.
“Mocking us, he went away as he had come, leaving no sign to mark his passage.”
Then Hami sighed. “When he had gone, we turned our way hither. Affronted by his manner, we did not wish to credit his words. Therefore we did not hasten. Yet we altered the sequence of our wandering, for he had sown disquiet among us, and we wished to determine whether he had spoken sooth or no.”
Over the flames, she asked Linden, “Are you answered, Ringthane? Will you now speak of yourself, as I have spoken of the Ramen?”
For a moment, Linden could not meet the Manethrall’s gaze. The fact that an Elohim had approached the Ramen as well as Liand’s people forced her to confront fears which she had tried to stifle.
Thomas Covenant was dead. But Jeremiah also lacked half of one hand. And as far as she knew, the Elohim felt only the most oblique and ambiguous concern for Lord Foul’s machinations. They were Earthpower incarnate, free of Law and perhaps impervious to wild magic. In addition, they considered themselves the Würd of the Earth, the essence or purpose or fate of life; self-sufficient; beyond threat. No peril could touch them: few impinged on their notice. And fewer still stirred them from their hermetic self-contemplation.
The idea that those detached and apparently heartless beings had dispatched one of their own to forewarn the peoples of the Land made Linden want to rage and weep. Dear God, how bad was it going to get? What was Foul doing?
While she had known the Elohim Findail, he had dreaded only two things: his own Appointed doom; and the rousing of the Worm of the World’s End. And during her translation to the Land, she had caught a glimpse of the Worm—Lord Foul had mocked her with a nightmare in which she awakened the Worm with wild magic, causing the destruction of the Earth.
Yet the undefined challenges of the Ramen remained. When the Manethrall said her name again, Linden looked up from her trepidation.
Awkwardly she countered, “What was the second?”
Hami raised her eyebrows. “Ringthane?”
“You said two events brought you here now. You told me about the first one. What was the second?”
A new tension spread through the gathering. The Manethrall’s features closed: her expression became a wall. “That event entails the first challenge. Do you choose to meet it now? Will you not rather tell us the tale of yourself, that our hearts may be eased toward you?”
No, Linden insisted in silence—not to Hami, but to herself. No, stop this. Her fears were running away with her: concern and frustration were making her crazy. She had no power to bring about the ruin of the Earth. Everything that the Despiser said or did was designed to mislead her in some way.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, so faintly that she hardly heard her own voice. “Of course I’ll tell you my story. You’ve shown us nothing but kindness. I want your friendship.”
And she was certain that the Land needed the Ramen.
Hami responded with a formal bow. “Then speak, Ringthane.” Her tone hinted at whinnying. “The Ramen hear you.”
Standing or sitting, all of the Cords and Manethralls seemed to lean toward Linden. The mountains themselves brought their darkness nearer, and a chill breeze fell from their sides to fill the vale. In the moonless heavens, the stars glittered coldly, like the eyes of the Elohim; instanc
es of disdain.
Linden made no effort to raise her voice. Hami was enough for her. The rest of the Ramen would hear her as well as they could, and decide among themselves whether she spoke the truth.
“I’m like Thomas Covenant,” she said over the low crackle and hiss of the flames. “We come from a different place. Outside this world.” Her few possessions confirmed this: her clothes, her boots. And white gold did not exist in the Land, or anywhere in the wide Earth. “When he was summoned against the Sunbane, I came with him.
“You were brief. I’ll be the same.”
Firelight filled Hami’s eyes with shadows. The Manethrall seemed to watch Linden through a shroud of remembered wars and butchery, measuring Linden’s words against her own knowledge of evil.
Carefully Linden described her arrival with Covenant on Kevin’s Watch. She named Sunder and Hollian, whom Anele had claimed as his parents. Knowing that the ur-viles were important in some way, she told how Covenant’s Dead in Andelain had given him Vain. The beginning of the Search for the One Tree; her meeting with Giants in Seareach; their encounter with the Elohim, and with Findail the Appointed: these things she explained as concisely as possible. But she did not scant Brinn’s self-sacrifice and triumph at the Isle of the One Tree. She would not make it easy for the Ramen to think ill of Stave’s people. After that, however, she leaped ahead to Covenant’s victory over Lord Foul, the making of the new Staff of Law, and her own efforts to heal the Land.
The night around the clearing had grown impenetrable. Only the black bulk of the mountains showed against the stars. And only the campfires softened the stern faces of the Ramen.
“For me,” Linden said to the hushed gathering, “that was only ten years ago.” A quarter of her life. “Time is different where I come from.
“Three days ago, I was summoned again.” Shot through the heart. “I’m not sure, but I think two other people came to the Land at the same time.” Again she made no mention of Jeremiah. She did not want to expose him to the dire pronouncements of the Elohim. “If I’m right, they both serve Lord Foul. And one of them has a white gold ring.
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