But possible horrors followed her into the bedroom. When she had unwrapped the towels and stretched herself out among the rough blankets, she feared that she would not be able to relax. Then she feared that she would, and that ghouls would ride her dreams, tormenting her with sorrow.
Rising to use the bathroom a short time later, however, she found that the daylight filtering through the shutters over her window had become darkness, and the fire in her hearth had died to embers. Somehow night had fallen without her notice.
And in her front room a tray mounded with food had replaced the one which she and Liand had emptied. The Mahdoubt must have slipped into her quarters while she slept.
Linden had forgotten to latch the door when Liand left.
Nevertheless this evidence of the older woman’s care released knots of tension in her. The Mahdoubt’s kindliness seemed to dismiss nightmares and doom.
Hardly aware of what she did, Linden set the latch, tossed more wood into the fireplace, and extinguished all but one of the lamps. Then she toppled like a felled tree back into bed and slept again.
Chapter Eleven: The Masters of the Land
Later she heard Covenant calling her name. “Linden,” he said, and again, “Linden,” insistently, warning her of imminent danger. She knew that she ought to heed him, rouse herself; make choices which her companions could not gainsay or refuse. But instead she endeavoured not to hear him, thinking that if she could make herself deaf he would go away. Perhaps he would cease to exist, and then all of her woes would end at last.
Nevertheless he continued to insist. For reasons which she could not explain, he shone a flashlight into her eyes. He commanded an illumination which pierced her, made her squirm.
A muted thudding accompanied it, a sound like the distant drumbeat which heralded the collapse of worlds.
But when she tried to blink away the dazzle and coercion, she found herself squinting into a fine slit of sunlight which struck her face between the slats of the shutter above her bed. The voice intruding on her dreams was Liand’s, not Covenant’s: less strict than Covenant’s; and anxious for her. At intervals, he knocked on her door, attempting to urge her awake.
With a groan, Linden hauled herself out of bed.
How long had she slept? She had no idea. She felt sodden with sleep, waterlogged with dreams: she had soaked up too much rest to reach wakefulness easily.
“Coming,” she muttered, although she knew that her muffled voice would not be heard through the heavy door. “Damn it, I’m coming. Let me get some clothes on.”
Even in the worst emergencies, her former life had not required her to leave home without clothes.
By the time she had pulled on her jeans, however, and buttoned her shirt, the familiar urgency of sudden awakenings had caught up with her. God, what could have happened? Had the Demondim broken into Revelstone?
Why had they taken so long? They had the Illearth Stone-
Still barefoot, she padded to the door and opened it on Liand’s concern and Galt’s impassivity.
“What?” Her voice was rough with alarm. “What is it?”
Then she stopped, silenced by the abrupt realisation that her health-sense was now entirely gone. She could not discern the extent or nature of Liand’s concern. The polished stone of the Keep was closed to her, lifeless as a sepulchre.
Although she had expected the loss, it hurt her nonetheless.
“Linden,” the Stonedownor murmured as if he were embarrassed. “I crave your pardon. I was loath to awaken you, but the Master would have done so if I did not. The Voice of the Masters has summoned you. The time has come to speak of Anele’s imprisonment”- he dropped his gaze uncomfortably- “and of other matters.”
She waved a hand to dismiss his apology. “Don’t worry about it.” She could not afford to grieve over the effects of Kevin’s Dirt. “I should have been awake hours ago.”
How had she slept so long? She would not have believed that her fears and frustrations would allow her to rest so deeply.
Turning to the Humbled, she asked, “What are the Demondim doing? Are we under attack?”
Without her health-sense, she would not have known it if the Vile-spawn had torn down the watchtower and shattered the gates.
Galt regarded her without expression. “It is strange, Chosen,” he admitted as though the information did not interest him. “Yesterday they arrayed themselves as they would in preparation for a siege. During the night, however, they withdrew. There is now no sign of them within sight of Lord’s Keep. Scouts have been sent to determine if they have truly abandoned their intent against us. Those Masters have not yet returned.”
Linden stared at him. “They’re gone? Is that even possible?” The horde had seemed so single-minded in its hunger for bloodshed. “Kevin’s Dirt doesn’t affect you. Do you mean to tell me that you can’t even sense the Illearth Stone?”
What had Anele’s possessor said to the Demondim? What did that fiery being want? And why were its desires heeded by the Demondim?
Galt faced her steadily. “It is as I have said. There is now no sign of them. Our scouts have not yet returned.”
Well, damn, Linden thought dumbly. She might be able to leave Revelstone after all. As soon as she had persuaded the Masters to release Anele, she could gather her companions and head for Mount Thunder, following the hints which Jeremiah had constructed for her.
As soon as she had persuaded-
Only then did she notice that Galt had not bowed to her: not once since they had first been introduced. Apparently he or his people esteemed her less than Stave did.
Galt may have wished her to understand that the Masters had no intention of letting Anele go.
Well, damn, she thought again, this time angrily. Let them try it. If they think-
Nevertheless the prospect of contending for Anele’s soul calmed her. A physician’s detachment came to her aid, a separation of emotion which she had learned from years of training. Precisely because a struggle awaited her, she comported herself as though she were unafraid.
Quietly she asked the Humbled, “Is Handir waiting? Can we take the time to eat something? I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
Let them try to keep Anele from her.
“There is no need for haste,” replied Galt. His tone seemed to imply that the Masters could wait indefinitely for a woman as weak as she was.
Linden turned back into the room. “In that case,” she suggested to Liand, “why don’t you cut up some of that bread and cheese”- she nodded at the Mahdoubt’s tray- “while I get my boots on? We’ll take it with us.”
Her attitude appeared to confuse Liand, but he promptly stifled his reaction, obeying without hesitation. He may have realised that there were large issues at stake for her, issues which transcended Anele’s release and the departure of the Demondim.
You hold great powers. Yet if we determine that we must wrest them from you, do you truly doubt that we will prevail?
Without the Staff of Law and Covenant’s ring, she would be helpless to defend the Land, or rescue her son.
Carefully, preparing herself, Linden donned her socks and then her boots while Liand sliced bread and cheese into convenient pieces. Then, still calm, she returned to her bedroom to retrieve the Staff.
She had promised the Stonedownor that she would attempt to restore their percipience. Without it, she feared that she would be powerless to sway the Masters.
But when she took the warm shaft in her hands, she found that she did not know how to call upon its strength.
A surge of panic threatened her detachment. She needed the Staff; perhaps more than she needed wild magic. She had pinned all of her hopes on Law and Earthpower. They were the organic antitheses of caesures and Kevin’s Dirt and Despite. And she had fashioned this Staff with her own hands and heart. It belonged to her more profoundly than Covenant’s ring. Yet she could discover no power in it. It was merely wood: lovely to the touch, and flawless, but nothing more.
When she did so, she realised that she had never before been able to raise any kind of power without health-sense to guide her. Not during the collapse of Kevin’s Watch: not when she had summoned the ur-viles to aid Sahah: not in the Verge of Wandering on Stave’s behalf. On each occasion, she had been above the blinding shroud of Kevin’s Dirt. In the rift, she had failed to find wild magic. And during her time with Thomas Covenant, she had never lacked percipience. In the past, Kevin’s Dirt had not existed. And when she had used the Staff the previous day, her senses had still retained most of their discernment.
She had always been able to feel the Staff’s potential like a geyser waiting to be released. Without that sight, she was trapped. She needed the Staff to restore her health-sense, and needed percipience to use the Staff.
Trust yourself. You’re the only one who can do this. But she could not.
Again panic threatened her. She did not hear Liand enter the bedroom; did not notice him until he placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Linden,” he whispered, trying not to be overheard, “what is amiss? Has Kevin’s Dirt deprived the Staff of potency?”
Urgently she stared into his eyes; and the sight of his unaffected worry steadied her. She could not afford to lose her way now. Too many people had staked their lives on her.
She had to think.
Liand’s question gave her a place to start. “No,” she began weakly. “It can’t. This is the Staff of Law. Kevin’s Dirt can’t change what it is. That’s not the problem.” As she spoke, however, her voice grew stronger. She drew courage from the gentleness of his touch on her shoulders. “I am. I can’t figure out how to use it. I need my health-sense.”
The Stonedownor knew virtually nothing about power. For that very reason, he might be able to aid her. He was not hampered by her preconceptions.
If he had trusted her less implicitly, he might have hesitated. But he seemed to believe beyond question that her dilemma was a problem she could resolve rather than an inadequacy she would be unable to overcome. Still whispering, he said firmly, “Yet you also have not changed. Kevin’s Dirt is merely a veil. It cannot alter you.”
Linden nodded. Her reliance on him was as implicit as his trust. And of course he was right. Otherwise the effects of the shroud would have been permanent.
He smiled to encourage her. “Is the wood not warm?”
Warmth, yes. She could feel that. She shifted her hands to confirm it, and was sure. The shaft radiated a palpable heat, delicate and reassuring.
Again she nodded.
“If the wood retains its warmth,” he asked softly, “can you not also touch the source of that warmth?”
She did not know. She had not made the attempt.
Prompted by his clear assumption that she would not fail, she closed her eyes and focused all of her attention on the sensation of the Staff in her grasp.
The surface of the wood was so smooth that it felt almost slick; as immaculate as a clear sky, and yet as full of life and possibilities as the Andelainian Hills. Its energy was unmistakable. And the more she concentrated on it, the deeper that vitality seemed to run. It was a geyser indeed, a tangible wellspring. There was no measurable limit to the amount of Earthpower which might pour forth if the Staff were opened.
All she needed-
– was the warmth itself. Kevin’s Dirt might close her senses, but it could not seal the Staff. By its very nature, the wood’s strength would heal her if she simply immersed herself in its heat.
Wrapping her arms around the Staff, she hugged it to her heart; and as she did so, her senses began to bloom.
In moments, she could feel the shaft glowing like hope in her embrace. With her eyes still shut, she could discern Liand’s simple belief in her. The nerves of her skin tasted the life in his veins; enjoyed the confident beating of his heart. And behind him-
Ah, behind him stood the living gutrock of the promontory, the vital and ageless granite into which the Unhomed had engraved their intricate, enduring, and passionate love of stone. If she had been content to do so, she could have spent days or years entranced by the slow pulse of Revelstone’s rock. Eventually she would have been able to sense and share every life that inhabited the vast Keep, every love, every fear, every desire. Given time, she might learn to hear the words which the stone spoke to itself, as Anele did.
But the thought of the old man brought her back to herself. She had too much to do. Now she would be able to do it.
Tears of relief ran down her cheeks as she reached out to Liand with the Staff’s beneficence and freed his senses from Kevin’s Dirt. She did not need to look at him to recognise his sudden bliss.
“This is temporary,” she told him in a husky voice. “I’ll probably have to renew it every day.” Or every few hours. “But now I know how.”
“My thanks,” he breathed when she was finally able to open her eyes and face him. “There are no words-Only know that you have my”- he swallowed roughly- “entire gratitude.”
“Then we’re even.” Without transition, Linden found that she was eager to confront the Masters. She felt fundamentally restored, in full possession of her powers, as if she had reclaimed a birthright. Armed with the Staff of Law and Covenant’s ring, as with Liand’s trust, she was ready for any challenge. “I could not have done this without you.”
Grinning, he replied, “And still your estimate of yourself falls too low.” Then he indicated the room where Galt waited. “I am inclined to try the patience of these Masters as far as I may. Yet Anele’s plight remains. And I do not doubt that the Ramen grow restive.” After a brief hesitation, he added, “Also I fear that Pahni’s blindness torments her. She lacks Bhapa’s years, and the Manethrall’s, and has not learned to harden her heart.”
“You’re right.” Linden wiped away her tears; secured her grip on the Staff. “We should go.”
He gave her a humorous bow, which she returned. She was smiling as they left her bedroom to rejoin the Humbled.
If Galt had ever experienced impatience, he did not show it. Linden was sure that he knew what had just happened. With his Haruchai senses, he had probably heard every word, felt every change. Nevertheless he remained stolid; impenetrable. Her restoration gave him no discernible qualms. He merely acknowledged her with a nod and turned toward the door.
When Liand had taken a double handful of bread and cheese, and tucked the food into the front of his jerkin, he and Linden followed the Master out into the corridors of Revelstone.
She was vaguely surprised to find them lit at wide intervals by oil lamps and torches. Since the previous day, someone-the Mahdoubt, perhaps, or another servant of Revelstone-had heeded her desire for light. She could see her way along the disused passages, down the echoing stairways, across the uninhabited halls.
If anything, the sparse illumination made the great Keep seem more abandoned than it had earlier. Now she could not imagine hosts of people thriving beyond the reach of her senses. Instead the long stone corridors and high chambers ached with emptiness. Lord’s Keep had been made by Giants to be occupied by men and women who loved it; and now those inhabitants were gone.
Doubtless the Masters respected Revelstone. They may even have admired it. But they could not take the place of people who served Earthpower and stone. The huge gutrock warren needed more than light: it needed use and warmth.
By complex stages, Galt led Linden and Liand inward and downward, deeper into the old heart of the Keep; and as they descended, both the air and the stone grew colder. The shadows beyond the lamps and torches intensified until they became as dark as coverts. Beyond the flat retort of her boot heels, the softer clap of Liand’s sandals, and the nearly inaudible susurrus of Galt’s steps, Linden seemed to hear the muffled breaths and whispers of lurking enmity. With her health-sense, she could feel the tremendous weight o
f Revelstone’s rock leaning over her as if to watch what she would do.
“Where are we going?” she asked Galt abruptly. The deserted Keep oppressed her in spite of her new confidence. She wanted to hear something other than ramified echoes and emptiness.
“It is near,” replied the Humbled. “We will speak together in the Close, where in ancient times the Council of Lords gathered to debate the Land’s need, and to determine their response.”
Linden sighed. No doubt the Close held meaning for the Haruchai, but she had never seen it. Too much of the Land’s long history was hidden from her, or lost. Its undefined significance seemed to bear down on her like Revelstone’s impending mass.
“Anele will be there?”
“Chosen,” Galt answered, “all of your companions await you, saving only the Demondim-spawn. Already they have dispersed among the upland hills. We do not know if they will return.”
Gone, she thought. The obscure dictates of their Weird-or of their Weirds, if the ur-viles and Waynhim did not agree-had commanded them elsewhere. She had no idea what their departure meant; but at least she could believe that they were safe.
Liand offered her a few pieces of bread and cheese. She accepted them and began to eat while she followed Galt’s strict back.
Then ahead of them she saw an arched entryway which looked like it might once have held doors. If so, however, they were long gone; neglected until they had fallen away. Now the opening gaped like a scream petrified in granite, an outcry so old that only the stone could remember it.
But a brighter illumination shone from the entryway. When Galt led his charges through the entrance, Linden found herself in a huge chamber lit by many lamps: the Close. It was a round cavity, both high and deep, which appeared to have been formed with conflicting purposes. Above her, almost beyond the reach of the light, the groined ceiling was intricately crafted, shaped with reverence, as if to honour everything that was done and said within the chamber. But below the entryway the floor slumped to form a crude pit. At first, the surface sank down in stages which may once have been tiers. Farther down, however, the stone resembled poured magma. She could almost believe that a once-fine audience hall had been subjected to a terrible heat; fire so hot that the floor melted and ran, cooling at last into contorted patterns like memorials of pain at the bottom of the pit.
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