Galesend and then Latebirth gained the mouth of the tunnel. Holding Covenant between them like a prisoner or an invalid, the Humbled matched Kindwind’s pace as she moved down the span.
Now Covenant could believe that the bridge would hold; and his balance improved. With each step, he found it easier to shut out the insistence of the gulf.
Presumably to ensure that Anele would not wander too near the abyss, Galesend put the old man on his feet within the mouth of the tunnel, near the area where the obsidian tapered to an end. Then she turned back to welcome Latebirth.
For reasons that had slumped from Covenant’s shoulders like a garment which he had become too small to wear, he felt a twist of anxiety on Anele’s behalf. Dooms hinged on him, as they did on the Harrow.—remember that he is the hope of the Land. Someone had said that: someone Covenant trusted. When your deeds have come to doom—His memories seemed random, involuntary; impossible to control. Cracks and crevices hemmed him on all sides, cutting him off from ordinary humanity.—as they must—In his own eyes, he would not have been more obviously a leper if the scar on his forehead had been a brand. Yet Linden’s gaze clung to his with the desperation of a woman who believed that he clasped her fate in his insensible hands.
Hell and blood, she must have been freezing—He may have been shivering himself: he was not sure. But the small tears in her shirt were as vivid to him as the bullet hole over her heart. Cold would leak through the red flannel like water. Whenever she exhaled, steam rose like frailty from her lungs.
She had given up so much, and had lost more. Too much.
Holding her gaze, Covenant became stronger for her sake. Every moment that he retained his grip on the present cost him more of his memories; deprived him ineluctably of the ineffable knowledge which had inspired him to speak to her from the Arch of Time. Already his awareness of what he needed to do, and why, had dwindled to indeterminate and unpredictable debris. But Linden needed him. In some fashion that he could no longer define, the Earth and the Land and Jeremiah needed him as much as they needed her. Grimly he increased his pace, drawing the Humbled with him as he crowded closer to Cirrus Kindwind’s back.
At irregular intervals, the krill throbbed ominously against his abdomen; but he ignored it.
As Halewhole Bluntfist carried Bhapa off the bridge, Coldspray, Grueburn, and Stonemage began to relax. Now Kindwind, Covenant, and the Humbled were close to safety.
Lacking percipience, Covenant could not sense the Harrow. Too many of his nerves were dead. He did not doubt that the Insequent had reached the far end of the span. But he had no idea what that avid man might do there, or how his efforts would fare. Nevertheless Covenant did not risk turning his head to look. His balance was still precarious. If he let it, the abyss would renew its grip in an instant.
Like Linden, he had lost and given up too much.
He hoped that her health-sense had not been entirely stifled, despite her proximity to the fierce source of Kevin’s Dirt. If Liand’s exertion of Earthpower could impose a partial cleanliness on the air, it might also preserve a measure of her discernment. And if she could still see, then surely the senses of the Giants and the Haruchai would retain their native vitality. The Ramen, and even Liand himself, might feel as numb as Covenant, but their perceptions would not be entirely superficial.
Yet no effect of orcrest could relieve Covenant’s leprosy, or ease his particular vulnerabilities. As he left the bridge to stand on obsidian and malachite, he felt more useless than he had when Linden had first reclaimed him. He had no idea what to say to her, or to any of her companions. Her relief was unmistakable. The Ramen and even the Giants appeared to breathe more easily now that everyone was safe, at least for the moment. But it was only a matter of time before one of them studied what the Harrow was doing, or not doing, and asked, Now what? And Covenant could not remember what they all needed to know.
It was also only a matter of time before the Earth’s deepest lamentation noticed the intrusion of theurgy in Her dominions. Loric’s krill and Liand’s orcrest would attract attention. Long ages of stupor might continue to hold Her for a while, but then She would respond.
And if or when Linden reached Jeremiah, Kastenessen and Esmer and the Elohim and even the buried bane would know where to look—
Whether Covenant’s companions realized it or not, they had no one to turn to for answers except the Ardent.
The beribboned Insequent stood in the mouth of the tunnel near Anele. He kept his back to the abyss; did not look at anyone. If he had received any benefit from Liand’s exertion of Earthpower, he did not show it. Instead he continued to breathe heavily, as if he had carried his fat and fear for leagues under the mountain. The multitudinous strips of his apparel remained clenched around him as tightly as a fist.
Had the will and power of his people deserted him? He seemed overwhelmed; too daunted to carry out their wishes. As useless as Covenant—
Covenant found everyone except the Ardent and Anele looking at him. Even Linden’s closest friends watched his every movement as though they expected him to perform a miracle of some kind. Take command of the situation. Tell them what to do.
Clearly they retained enough health-sense to see that his mind was present. As he had hoped, the orcrest’s Earthpower resisted the worst effects of Kevin’s Dirt. Linden’s eyes clung to him. She was unutterably precious to him, and wounded past bearing. In some other life—the life that she deserved—he would have wrapped his arms around her and held her until her loneliness eased.
But he had no value to her here: not as he was.
“Hellfire,” he muttered simply to break the silence. “That was fun.” Trying to rub sensations of futility from his face with his bound hands, he asked, “Can any of you see what the Harrow is doing? I’m afraid to look.”
No one glanced away. Even the Humbled regarded him stolidly.
Softly, as if she were reluctant to awaken echoes, Rime Coldspray replied, “The Harrow has gained the archway or portal at the foot of the span. Now he bows on one knee at the verge of an extreme dark which the Stonedownor’s legacy cannot penetrate. Perhaps he prepares incantations. Perhaps not. The white gold ring he holds to his forehead in one fist. The Staff of Law he grips upright before him. To my diminished sight, however, he appears to wield no magicks. Rather he remains merely bowed as in contemplation.”
The rim of the precipice was too near. Trickles and streams of water fell from the tips of the stalactites as if they were draining the life-blood out of the world’s veins drop by drop. The web of malachite that defined or defied the obsidian under Covenant’s boots created the illusion that its strands flowed ceaselessly toward the abysm.
“He’s trying to find the way in.” Covenant was hardly aware of his own voice. The Ardent’s alarm was contagious. It bred vertigo. “Past that blank place is the Lost Deep. The home of the Viles, back when the Viles still existed. That’s where they did their breeding—and the Demondim did—and the ur-viles. But it’s protected. If the Harrow can’t open it, we won’t get in.
“That’s why we’re here. Why we aren’t already with Jeremiah. No one can get in if that portal isn’t opened first.”
The Masters and Stave regarded him as though nothing that he might say could surprise them. The Giants only frowned in concentration, absorbing new information. But Linden stared at Covenant with darkness in her eyes. Her cheeks were pale, drained of blood. And the Ramen and Liand appeared to take their cue from her—or from the Ardent’s labored breathing. Innominate uncertainties and dreads marked their faces like fretwork. Cowed by the mass of immeasurable stone above him, even the Manethrall gave the impression that he could be intimidated.
While he was still able to hold them, Covenant scrambled to articulate his memories. “This chasm. It’s how the Viles guarded themselves. Isolated themselves. It isn’t just a chasm. A terrible power lives here.
“Hell and blood,” he panted through his teeth. “This is hard. I can’t think—”
Every word was as dangerous as falling. He spoke in puffs of vapor that became nothing. He could not help Linden. “When the Viles formed that bridge, they called it the Hazard. But translation doesn’t do it justice. When they said ‘Hazard,’ they didn’t just mean that terrible power. And they didn’t just mean they covered the bridge with wards so it would shatter if someone tried to enter the Lost Deep without knowing how. It was their hazard, too.
“Making it, they risked everything. Who they were. What they meant to themselves. It was their only link to the rest of the Land. The rest of the Earth. When they crossed out of the Lost Deep, everything they’d ever done or cared about might be destroyed. While they kept themselves isolated, they could imagine they were perfect. But they were smart enough to know the world is a big place. Even the Land is a big place. They might meet beings and forces that would make them look paltry.
“They created the Hazard because they were too intelligent to be content with ideas of perfection that hadn’t been tested. Compared. Measured.”
The Haruchai would understand that better than anyone.
Behind him, he heard Anele muttering: a babble of agitation. But Linden’s stare held him. He did not want to drop her gaze, even for a moment. If he had been able to look into her eyes—into her heart—during his long participation in the Arch, he might have been content to remain there until all things ended.
“Does the Harrow know how to open the door?”
Linden’s question cut at Covenant: he had no numbness to cover that hurt. His scant memories became more useless whenever he needed them. All that time spent among the millennia, wasted—
Thickly he admitted, “You’ll have to ask the Ardent. I’ve forgotten. If I ever knew.” He had no idea how to open the portal himself. He recalled only that wild magic would shatter the Hazard. For this task, the Harrow had to depend on the Staff of Law.
It belonged to Linden.
Briefly she searched him as if she thought that the sheer force of her yearning would compel remembrance. But the pressure accumulating within her demanded release: he could see that without percipience. While his pulse labored helplessly in his chest, and the cold tightened its grip, she turned away, drawing his attention with her.
Her lips were pallid and chilled as she repeated her question to the Insequent. Covenant drew inferences of shivering from the sound of her voice.
Why else had the Ardent insisted on accompanying Linden and her companions?
The fat man did not reply directly. He did not face her. Perhaps he could not. Instead he released a few of his ribbands in a flutter that suggested negation.
“I cannot aid him here.” His voice was a taut wheeze. “This has been his life’s quest. It is not mine. Nor has it been any other living Insequent’s. I possess no knowledge, either earned or given, to ease his dilemma.”
Hurt by Linden’s desperation, Covenant demanded, “Then why exactly are you here? Your people didn’t pick you just because you happen to like new experiences. They must have had something more constructive in mind. Otherwise what was the point?”
The Ardent flinched as if a lash had licked across his back. His raiment expanded and contracted with every hoarse breath. Nevertheless Covenant’s challenge seemed to strike a spark of indignation or resolve within him. Summoning fortitude as though he had found it hidden within his garish apparel, he lifted his head, straightened his back. Slowly he turned. Strips of cerise and azure wiped the sweat from his forehead and his plump cheeks. They appeared to do so of their own volition.
“It is my task to ensure that the Harrow abides by his oath. That mission I have begun. I will continue it. I will assist him when I am able to do so. For the nonce, however, Timewarden, I have another purpose, one which the conjoined will of the Insequent has urged. I have drawn you hither, to my side rather than to the Harrow’s. Him you cannot succor. Here knowledge which you have forgotten may be restored.
“Among those who assiduously seek out auguries and prescience, there is disagreement concerning the outcome of our present quest. Yet all concur that we must stand in this place at this time. Here we are vouchsafed an opportunity which will not recur, and which is greatly to be desired.”
“What opportunity?” Linden’s voice shook on the verge of hysteria. “How does this help us find my son?”
“It does not—” began the Insequent.
Before he could continue, Rime Coldspray put in, “Stonedownor, this illumination is a great boon.” She sounded studiously nonchalant, casual, like a woman trying to ease the tension of her companions. “Can it be extended to supply warmth as well? Clearly the Ramen are hardy, inured to extremes. The same may be said of Giants and Haruchai. But Linden Giantfriend suffers here, as you also suffer. And it appears that the Timewarden is shielded only by his illness.”
Covenant nodded reflexively. The state of his hands and feet gave him no protection. Fingers of ice had found their way through his clothes into his unfamiliar flesh. He trembled to the rhythm of Linden’s shivering. But he did not care about himself. Even wrapped in vellum, the krill’s heat defended his physical core. And whenever Joan probed the gem, he gained more warmth. Inadvertently she did him good.
Linden was more at risk.
“It does not,” repeated the Ardent. “Nonetheless it is needful.”
Studying Linden, Liand replied to the Ironhand, “I have not made the attempt.” His concern was evident. “Yet at every turn the virtues of orcrest have surpassed my imagination. If it gives light, banishes the effects of Kevin’s Dirt, and cleanses this foul air, perhaps it may also emit heat. I will endeavor—”
“Needful how?” insisted Linden.
“Chosen,” Stave said flatly: a veiled command. “Attend to Anele.”
Linden hardly appeared to hear the former Master. Her attention clung to the Ardent. But Covenant forced himself to glance toward the old man.
How could he not remember this? Surely it was the task for which he had been resurrected? To remember—and give warning?
The marks on Linden’s jeans should have reminded him—
Pahni drew a sharp breath as she followed Covenant’s gaze. Baffled in his efforts to concentrate on the Sunstone, Liand looked momentarily flustered. Then his black brows arched in surprise. Blindly Mahrtiir faced Linden’s first companion.
“Is this possession?” Stormpast Galesend asked, anxious for the man she had been charged to carry. “Is it some new manifestation of his madness? Stone and Sea! The diminishment of my sight vexes me.”
Wincing, Linden wheeled away from the Ardent.
Anele lay facedown on the uneven obsidian with his arms and legs outstretched as if in deliberate prostration. Beneath his scrawny frame, veins of green radiated outward as though they depicted rays of light. Somehow the malachite conveyed the impression that it throbbed to the beat of his pulse.
Those veins resembled the stains which Covenant had once worn after passing through Morinmoss.
To Covenant, Anele looked only frail and beaten, as if he had been felled. But Liand murmured in wonder, “See him, Linden.” And one of the Swordmainnir added, “Aye, behold.”
Covenant wanted to ask, See what? Almost at once, however, Linden breathed, “That’s not possession. It’s Earthpower. He’s on fire with it. His birthright—I’ve never seen it so strong. Or so close to the surface.”
With an air of respect, even of reverence, the Ardent backed away from Anele; cleared a space around the old man.
In a voice like stone and apprehension and sorrow crushed together until they were in danger of crumbling, the old man said distinctly, “It is here.”
The words themselves, or the tone in which Anele spoke them, ignited memories in Covenant—
Seek deep rock.
—memories so recent and explicit that they should have been impossible to forget.
The Harrow had brought Linden’s company to stone so deep that no human capable of interpreting it had ever touched it before.
/> In Salva Gildenbourne, Anele had tried to explain something to Linden. Who else had heard him? Who else, apart from Covenant before his reincarnation? Stave? Liand?
“Here, Anele?” Linden asked in steam and cold. “What’s here? What is the stone telling you?”
What had awakened the old man’s inherited strength?
“The wood of the world has forgotten.” Anele sounded as harsh as the rock beneath him. “It cannot reclaim itself. It requires aid. Yet this stone remembers.”
Covenant remembered other things instead. A different time. A distant place.
Wood is too brief. All vastness is forgotten.
He expected to see Anele’s limbs straining, fingers clawing at the obsidian. But there was no effort in Anele’s splayed fingers. His whole body looked limp, as if he were slowly melting into the gutrock. Only his voice was tight; wakeful.
“There must be forbidding.”
Without forbidding, there is too little time.
The Giants gathered around Linden and Stave, Liand and the old man. Instinctively they formed a protective cordon, although there was nothing that they could do to ease or aid him. Linden knelt at Anele’s side. Liand held his orcrest high. Its light cast grotesque shadows of the Swordmainnir on the crude walls of the passage. The vapor of their breathing spread out and vanished, inhaled by the surrounding dark.
The Humbled remained close to Covenant. Their halfhands seemed to mock him at the edges of his vision. He suspected that they would stop him if he tried to approach Anele. They had never trusted Anele’s legacy—or any use of Earthpower.
“Anele,” Linden whispered. “Tell me.”
“Even here it is felt,” the old man said as if he were answering her. “Written. Lamented.” But the words were not a reply. Anele’s fixation on the lines of malachite within the obsidian was complete. He responded to the world’s oldest secrets, not to her. “The rousing of the Worm. It devours the magic of the Earth. The life. But its hunger is too great. When it has depleted lesser sustenance, it must come to the Land.”
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