Of green and tree; and for their worth
I hold the glaive of Law against the Earth.
Linden’s memories of Andelain and music bore her along until she found what she sought: the precise aura and potency of the Staff of Law.
“And yet,” Mahrtiir put in, “they would refuse the Staff to the Ringthane, she who above all others has the greatest need-”
He stopped, unable to express his bafflement and chagrin.
“Manethrall,” answered Esmer, “they must satisfy their Weird. I have named their reasons. They do not count the cost to themselves.”
They did not; but Linden counted it for them. She had spent her life responding to such needs.
Her nerves recognised the Staff with gladness. The Land had gifted her with health-sense, and she could not mistake the Staff’s particular emanations. It was the incarnation of rightness, the tangible bulwark of the strictures, sequences, necessities-the commandments-which made life and beauty possible. While it remained intact, Lord Foul could never entirely extinguish hope.
And she was its maker. Inspired by her love for Covenant and the Land, for all of her friends, she had expended herself in white fire to create an instrument against the Sunbane. She did not need to be in contact with it in order to wield its benison. She needed only to feel its strength and know that it was hers.
Guided and controlled, Esmer had said. By a condign hand.
Kneeling still, with her eyes closed and her head bowed, Linden Avery the Chosen reached out to claim the only power which had ever truly belonged to her.
Somewhere in the distance, Liand whispered, “Heaven and Earth! Look to her. She is exalted-”
Together, as if they had momentarily set aside their antagonism, Esmer and Stave replied, “She has discovered the Staff.”
“What will she do?” Liand asked in wonder.
Stave did not reply; but Esmer murmured softly, “Behold.”
Filling her hands with the vast possibilities of Law, Linden turned her thoughts to the damaged Waynhim standing unsteadily before her.
Her eyes remained closed. She did not need to gaze upon the creature to know its suffering. Its wounds-the inadvertent and unavoidable corrosion of its substance-were plain to her in every detail. Her own flesh felt them.
The Staff of Law had inflicted these hurts. With the Staff, she could heal them.
Thus she answered the denial of the Waynhim. They were the last remnant of their kind, and deserved no less than to be made whole.
When her task was complete, the sun had fallen farther down the sky, and the slow approach of evening left the ravine deep in shadows. Nevertheless her heart felt like daybreak, bright and full of promise.
Chapter Eight: “Contrive their salvation”
When Linden rose at last to her feet, nearly staggering with weariness, the healed Waynhim and its companion made raw-edged sounds which Esmer translated as welcome. Courteously Stave and Mahrtiir returned grave thanks. Leaving Bhapa and Pahni with the Ranyhyn, and the ur-viles to fend for themselves, Linden and her small company followed the Waynhim into the cave.
She leaned heavily against Liand, needing his support. And Mahrtiir held Anele upright: the old man seemed too lost to fend for himself. Stave walked alone, while Esmer trailed behind as if he had been dispossessed.
Formal as a procession, they proceeded along the dark stone throat until they reached a turning, where the passage opened into a wide chamber lit like a meeting hall. There the rest of the rhysh waited to offer welcome also, bowing after their fashion and chittering among themselves like delighted birds.
Healing the creature that warded the Staff, Linden had apparently healed them all. Even the Waynhim which had first met her in the ravine had lost its grieving air, and none of the others showed any signs of harm.
She had in some sense validated the meaning of their lives.
After the summer heat on the South Plains, the atmosphere of the cave felt blessedly cool, soothing to her raw nerves. The Waynhim guided their guests to ledges like seats in the wall of the cave; and when she sat down the worn stone seemed to embrace her in spite of its unyielding surfaces. This sensation, she knew, was an effect created by the Waynhim. They wished her to understand that she had arrived in a place of peace.
The light in the cave had a warm luminescence tinged with emerald and flickers of rust. It arose from a number of stone pots spaced like braziers around the wide floor; and flames danced and twisted at their rims. Yet Linden could see that the fires were fed, not by oil or wood, but by lore. Instead of smoke, they cast a scent of cloves and coriander into the air.
Liand sat near her, although now she did not need his care. The Waynhim had brought her closer to the Staff of Law: she could feel its nearness effortlessly. Its stern beneficence filled her with an unfamiliar contentment.
Stave remained standing as if to do the Demondim-spawn honour. And Esmer wandered aimlessly around the chamber, looking vaguely rueful, troubled by sorrows which he did not explain. But Mahrtiir also sat on one of the ledges, studying the Waynhim as though he meant to memorise every detail so that he would be able to tell his people a tale worthy of his fierce ambitions.
Seated as well, Anele rested against the stone, mumbling into his thin beard. But some essential change had taken place in him. When Linden looked at him, she saw that his old rue and shame had lost some of their vehemence. He had been ground down by too many years and too much regret; and yet, in spite of his mumbling, he appeared almost sane. His proximity to the Staff seemed to soothe him, easing his long bereavement.
The Waynhim offered an iron cup of vitrim to each of their guests, although Esmer waved his aside with apparent disdain. Then they gathered together in the centre of the chamber, forming themselves into a loose wedge with the Staff’s guardian at its tip. Again the healed creature bowed to Linden, barking words she could not understand. When she also had bowed, it walked slowly out of the chamber into one of several side-tunnels that interrupted the walls of the cave. Hushed and expectant, everyone waited while the creature disappeared on its errand.
Soon it returned, bearing the Staff of Law in its hands.
Linden’s heart lifted again at the sight. The Staff’s unique nature spoke to her senses. It was taller than the Waynhim-nearly as tall as she was herself-and formed of a pale wood which gleamed in the lore-light; wood so pale that it might have been carved from the heart of a tree. Its length was smooth, as if it had been polished lovingly for centuries. But its ends were bound with iron bands, the heels of the original Staff of Law which Berek Halfhand had formed from a limb of the One Tree.
Vain and Findail had given their lives to it, rigid structure and fluid vitality. But their qualities had been transformed by wild magic and the passion of Linden’s torn spirit. And their union had been shaped, guided, by the deep knowledge with which Berek had forged his iron. Thus the lore of the ur-viles and the Earthpower of the Elohim had become the pure instrument of Law.
Eagerly Linden rose to meet the Staff. When the creature placed it in her grasp, she felt a rush of warmth from the wood. Its possibilities flowed into her like heat. At the same time, she was filled with memories of Andelain: of hillsides as lush as lawns bedizened with wildflowers and aliantha; of the proud outstretched health of Gilden trees with their wreaths of golden leaves thick about them; of small streams, and groves of oak, and swaths of briar-rose, all vibrant with Earthpower.
She felt that she was remembering the Land as it had once existed in the mind of its Creator, before Lord Foul was imprisoned within the Arch of Time; before Foul had corrupted the Land with hidden banes like the Illearth Stone, and had gained the service of fell beings like the Ravers. And she tasted as well the Creator’s grief. Having created the Arch, the structure of beginning and end which allowed life to exist, the Creator could not alter events within that structure without violating it. Therefore Lord Foul’s imprisonment itself gave him the freedom to destroy what the Creator had made.
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Such treasures as the Staff of Law had been brought into being so that the inhabitants of the Land would have the means to oppose Lord Foul themselves; to fight for the intended beauty of the world.
For a moment, at least, while she held the Staff for the first time in many years, Linden felt equal to her enormous task. Unlike Covenant’s ring, the Staff suited her. She understood its uses instinctively; trusted herself with it. Its natural rightness seemed to send healing into every cell and impulse of her being.
She did not realise that she was weeping until she thought to thank the Waynhim and discovered that she could see nothing clearly. Tears blurred her gaze, turning the light to streaks of consolation, and confusing the definition of the figures around her.
When she blinked the tears from her eyes, however, she found that the Staff’s guardian no longer stood before her. The creature had stepped back, making way for Anele.
The old man faced her with his hands poised near the Staff as though he meant to wrest it from her grasp.
Liand and Mahrtiir hovered behind him, waiting to see what he would do; ready to intervene. But they were visibly reluctant to disturb him.
Anele’s hands trembled as he studied the Staff, and his blind gaze seemed to ache with yearning. How many decades had passed since he had last stood in the presence of his birthright? How much recrimination and self-loathing had he suffered before he had fallen into madness?
The touch of the Staff might heal him as well.
Yet he did not close his hands on the immaculate wood; did not so much as brush it with his fingertips. Instead he stood motionless while Linden grieved for him and the entire chamber seemed to hold its breath. Then, trembling, he lowered his arms.
In a small voice, he murmured unsteadily, “I am unworthy of such astonishment. The day has not yet come when I may be whole.” His throat closed on a sob. When he had swallowed it, he whispered, “Until that time, I must remain as I am.
“Do not mourn for me.” The effort of renunciation left him desolate. “Know that I am content to behold the Staff in your care.”
Then he turned away and hid his face in his hands.
Liand’s eyes were damp as he watched the old man. Mahrtiir scowled fiercely, too proud for sadness; but his manner was gentle as he guided Anele back to his seat and offered vitrim to his lips.
For a while, Linden could not stop her tears. The day has not yet come-She believed him: there was no falsehood in him. But the thought that he needed to remain as he was hurt her more than she could express. With the Staff, she possessed the power to impose any healing that he might require. Yet he refused her. He was not ready-or his circumstances were not.
“Linden,” asked Liand softly, “will you heed his desire for forbearance? Your weariness is extreme, but surely it does not outweigh his suffering?”
Hugging the Staff of Law to her chest, Linden cast her health-sense deeply into the old man, as she had done once before in the Verge of Wandering: again she sought the means to succour him. But he had changed in more ways than one. The same yearning or compulsion which had brought him close to sanity had also galvanised his native puissance. She would have to force her way past powerful defences in order to reach him.
That violence might do him harm that she could not repair.
She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Look at him,” she told Liand. “He’s choosing to be this way.” His madness, like his blindness, was necessary to him still. “If I try to heal him, he’ll fight me. And maybe he’s right. He certainly has the right.”
And she had neither the wisdom nor the arrogance to make his decisions for him.
After a moment, Liand answered sadly, “I see what you see, though it baffles me. Perhaps he must determine the time and place of his healing.” Then the Stonedownor asked in a tone of pleading, “What does he desire, if not the Staff which he lost?”
“You heard him,” Linden sighed. “He needs to believe in himself. He still thinks he’s unworthy.”
Grieving, she returned to her seat on the stone ledge. Anele had assured her that he was content. And she, too, needed healing. Her tasks were far from complete. She still had to return to her proper time, and could not do so without entering a caesure. But her first experience had nearly destroyed her. Until she became stronger, she would not be able to endure a second.
And Esmer had warned her of betrayals- The Waynhim are valiant, he had said, and too many of them will perish if you do not contrive their salvation. He had brought with him or elicited some peril when he had appeared in this time. Now she and her companions as well as the Ranyhyn were in danger.
Fervidly she clung to the smooth wood of the Staff for comfort. When she had settled herself on the ledge, she drank a few swallows of the musty vitrim and let its potency carry the Staff’s warmth like chrism into the depths of her weariness.
She had rested there for only a short time, however, when Stave and Esmer approached her together. Animosity bristled between them, yet they were momentarily united in their resolve to question her.
Holding the Staff across her lap, she looked into the shifting green of Esmer’s gaze and the steady brown of Stave’s, and waited wearily for them to speak.
“What will you do,” Esmer demanded abruptly, “now that you have obtained your desire? It appears that you are indeed the Chosen, for the Demondim-spawn have chosen you. Perhaps they are not alone in their selection. Will you now cease to be the Wildwielder, setting aside white gold that you may dedicate yourself to the service of Law? If you do so, how will you return to your proper time? And if you do not, how will you bear the burden of such powers?
“Either alone will transcend your strength, as they would that of any mortal. Together they will wreak only madness, for wild magic defies all Law. That is its power and its peril.
“You must declare yourself, so that I”- he caught himself- ”so that all those here may find their own paths.”
He did not need to ask, If you set aside the ring, who will take it up? That question was implicit in every line of his face.
He may have wished to possess Covenant’s ring himself.
While Esmer spoke, Stave stepped aside as if to dissociate himself from his antagonist’s demand. But when Esmer was finished, the Master said, “I also ask this. We must not remain in this time. The hazard is too great. And you must not wield both wild magic and Law, lest you be torn asunder.
“Therefore I ask it. What is your intent?”
Linden considered both men through a blur of fatigue. Stave remained suspicious of her, she was sure of that. Yet she trusted him. Esmer, on the other hand-
Deliberately she turned to Mahrtiir and Liand.
“This depends on you,” she told the Manethrall carefully, “at least to some extent. I already know what Liand will say. And Anele needs to stay near the Staff. But I haven’t asked you.
“Do you want to go back to your people? It should be possible.” Once she had created a Fall, the Ranyhyn would be able to find their way. “But if we do that, I can’t stay with you. I have too many-”
“Ringthane,” Mahrtiir put in before she could explain, “this is needless.” The light from the stone pots glinted in his eyes. “I will accompany you wherever your purpose leads. I seek a tale which will remain in the memories of the Ramen when my life has ended. Such renown I will never earn among them. They are”- his mouth twisted- ”too cautious to be remembered.”
Then he shrugged. “In this I will not command the Cords. However, they feel a debt which they wish to repay.” He grinned at a thought which he kept to himself. “And you have found favour in their sight. They will not be parted from you.”
“All right.” Linden did not try to argue with him, although he and the Cords might well perish in her company. She needed as much rest as she could get. And some buried part of her had already made her decision. Raising her eyes to Esmer and Stave again, she repeated, “All right.
“I’m going to Andelain. I know I
’ve got too much power. And I don’t know where to look for my son.” Long ago, the spirits of Covenant’s friends had guided and comforted him there. Perhaps she, too, would find her loved Dead. “I’m hoping that someone there can tell me what to do.”
Esmer made a sound like a hiss of vexation and turned away; but Stave continued to face her with his usual flat stoicism. Whatever her answer meant to him remained shrouded. When her silence made it clear that she had no more to say, however, his manner seemed to intensify.
“Very well,” he replied. “You wish to enter Andelain. Perhaps you will do so. Yet you have not named a more immediate intention. What will you do now?
“As I have said, we must not remain in this time. And the peril grows with every moment of delay. Esmer has threatened a betrayal which it would be unwise to confront. And the hazard that our actions may violate Time accumulates against us. It is folly to indulge in rest when the need for departure becomes ever more urgent.”
Linden groaned to herself. She had hoped to postpone arduous questions for a while; until the benignant warmth of the Staff could knit together her frayed resources. Yet Stave deserved an answer. All of her companions did, the Waynhim as much as the Ramen and Liand.
Searching for a way to convey what she felt, she turned to the Stonedownor as to a touchstone of honesty. “Liand?”
At once, he stopped tending Anele to look at her. “Yes?”
“What was it like for you? In the caesure? What happened to you while we were there?”
His eyes widened, then seemed to grow dark, benighted by memory. “Linden-” He ducked his head to hide his discomfort. Yet he concealed nothing. “To speak of it is difficult. The pain-I had not conceived it possible to experience such pain.
“And to endure it-” His voice sank until it was barely audible. “That I could not have done, had the ur-viles left me unprotected. But I felt their blackness about me through the pain, warding away the worst of the Fall.”
Then he raised his head again. “There is a disturbance in their lore which sickened me,” he told Linden’s concerned gaze. “Yet it was a little thing in the greater evil of the Fall. I would not have survived to speak of it if the ur-viles had not preserved me.”
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