Fatal Revenant

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  At once, she dropped the goblet on the bed, sat up, and reached for the Staff.

  As soon as she closed her hands on the necessary warmth of the wood, and read with her fingers the deft precision of the Forestal’s runes, she felt the return of a more complete life. In the space between her heartbeats, the stone of the chamber ceased to be blind granite, inert and unresponsive: it became a vital and breathing aspect of Lord’s Keep. She recognized warmth and fire in the hearth of the larger room beyond her bedroom; smelled water poised to flow in the bathroom. Every inch of her skin and scalp became aware of its cleanliness. And the comfortable ease of the Mahdoubt’s aura washed over her like a baptism.

  Hugging the Staff to her bare breasts, Linden retrieved the goblet and handed it back to the older woman, mutely asking for more of Glimmermere’s benison.

  With a nod of approval, the Mahdoubt complied. When she returned from the sitting room this time, however, she brought a large wooden pitcher as well as the replenished goblet. The goblet she gave to Linden: the pitcher she placed on the floor beside the bed, where Linden could reach it easily. Then she retreated to her chair.

  Until Linden had emptied the goblet again, she did not remember that she was naked.

  Instinctively self-conscious, although she knew that she had no reason to be, she pulled up the sheet to cover herself. With a grimace of embarrassment, she found her voice at last.

  “Who bathed me?”

  Now the Mahdoubt grinned broadly. “The lady’s questions are endless. And some may be answered. Aye, assuredly, for there can be no peril in them.

  “Lady, you and the Mahdoubt were chanced upon by Ramen beside the falls of Glimmermere. Their Manethrall himself bore you hither, and here—with pleasure the Mahdoubt proclaims it—you have slumbered for two days and a night. Was such rest needful? Beyond all doubt it was. But when she discerned the depth of your slumbers, she saw that other care was needful as well.

  “It was the wish of all who have claimed your friendship, the flattering Stonedownor youth among them, and also he who was once a Master, to stand in vigil at your side. Assuredly. Are you not worthy of their attendance? Yet the Mahdoubt dismissed them, permitting only the Ramen girl to remain. Together she and the girl bathed you. Your raiment as well they cleansed and in part mended, though the marks of fecundity and long grass remain—as they must. Oh, assuredly.

  “When these small services had been accomplished, the Mahdoubt dismissed the girl also. The Mahdoubt is aged,” she explained lugubriously, in apparent playfulness, “and finds only brief ease in the accompaniment of the young. They remind her of much that she has left behind.” She sighed, but her tone held no regret. “Therefore the Mahdoubt has watched over you alone, taking satisfaction in your rest.”

  The older woman’s gentle voice filled the room with a more ordinary and humane solace than the relief of urgent thirst, the Earthpower in Glimmermere’s waters, the recovery of percipience, the stubborn protectiveness of Revelstone, or the confirmed strictures of the Staff. Listening, Linden found that she could accept the sound and relax somewhat, despite the hard clench of her heart.

  She wanted to see her friends. But the Mahdoubt’s reply implied that Liand, Stave, Anele, and the three Ramen were well. Indeed, it seemed to indicate that they had not been harmed by the violence surrounding Linden’s disappearance, or threatened by the siege of the Demondim. And if Linden’s resolve remained as unmistakable as a fist, her utter extremity had passed, sloughed off by sleep and the Mahdoubt’s astonishing succor. She could afford to take her steps one at a time—and to take them slowly.

  “When you washed my clothes,” she asked, holding images of Jeremiah’s plight at bay, “did you find a piece of red metal?” She could not recall what she had done with her son’s ruined racecar; his only reminder of her love. “It would have looked unfamiliar, but you could tell that it was twisted out of shape.”

  The older woman nodded. “Aye, lady.” Her expression became unexpectedly grave, as though she grasped the significance of the racecar. “It lies beneath your pillow.”

  Reaching under her pillow, Linden drew out the crumpled toy. Her fingers recognized it before she looked at it. It had been warmed while she slept, yet the croyel’s touch lingered in it, palpable and malign; and for an instant, she could not understand why she did not weep. But of course she knew why: all of her tears had been fused into the igneous rock of her purpose.

  Closing the car in her fingers, she met the Mahdoubt’s sympathetic gaze. “My friend,” she said, trying to soften her voice so that she would not sound angry. “I don’t know how to thank you. I can’t even imagine how to begin. I don’t understand how you helped me, or how you even knew that I needed help. And I certainly don’t understand why you went to all of that trouble. But you saved me when everything that I could have hoped for was gone.” Ever since we got you away from your present, there haven’t been any possible outcomes that don’t give us exactly what we want. “Now I hope that someday I’ll be worthy of you.”

  She was not one of the Land’s great heroes. Her many inadequacies had almost given Lord Foul his ultimate victory. But the Mahdoubt had done more than restore her to her proper time: the Insequent had given her a new opportunity to fight for her son.

  Linden did not mean to waste it.

  “Pssht, lady,” replied the Mahdoubt. “Are your thanks pleasing to the Mahdoubt? Assuredly. Yet they are sufficient—nay, more than sufficient. Already you have surpassed her own hopes. And you have enabled her to gaze more deeply into the peril of these times. That which she has seen teaches her that she is not yet done with service.

  “Lady,” she went on briskly. “one of those who is named the Humbled has discerned your awakening. Summons have been sent to your companions. Assuredly they will gather in haste, clamoring to attend upon you.” The woman smiled with evident affection. “Ere their coming, the Mahdoubt must depart, for she will not submit to their queries. Yet she is cognizant of your need for knowledge which none here possess. Perchance some few of your questions may now be sated. If there is aught that the Mahdoubt may reveal to you, she urges you to speak of it without qualm.”

  Linden sat up straighter. She had not expected the Mahdoubt’s offer. And her mind was still clogged by long sleep as well as by the croyel’s cruel spoor on Jeremiah’s toy. Half reflexively, she called up a small tongue of flame from the Staff to lick away the disturbing residue in the metal. Then she scrambled to catch up with her circumstances.

  She wanted details about the condition of her friends and the state of the siege. But Liand and the others would soon arrive to answer such questions in person. And the Mahdoubt was one of the Insequent. She had rescued Linden—but she had also permitted Roger’s and the croyel’s treachery.

  While Linden tried to assemble her thoughts into some kind of order, she asked the first question that occurred to her.

  “Before I left—” At first, words came awkwardly to her, as though she had to drag them across a vast gulf of years. “When the ur-viles tried to stop Roger and the croyel from taking me. There weren’t any Waynhim.” According to Esmer, he had imposed peace between the ur-viles and the Waynhim. Together they had helped her weaken the Demondim so that Revelstone might survive. “Why didn’t they join the ur-viles? Did they want me to get lost in the past?”

  Her companion looked away. Apparently speaking to the rock of the Keep, she mused, “Does the Mahdoubt comprehend the lady’s concern in this? Oh, assuredly. The lady cannot grasp the speech of the Waynhim. Therefore she cannot inquire of them directly. And the sole interpreter known to her is betimes unworthy of credence. Do these reasons suffice to prompt a reply? They do.”

  Then the woman faced Linden again. “Lady, the Waynhim absented themselves because they foresaw peril to those who now deem themselves Masters. The esteem between the Waynhim and the mountain race of the Haruchai is both old and earned. The Waynhim do not desire your loss. They would do much to preserve you. Yet they
declined to share in deeds which hazarded their olden allies.”

  Not for the first time, Linden felt that she had wasted a question. Nevertheless she was glad to have an answer. It relieved a nagging doubt. And it gave her time to decide what she most needed to know.

  “All right,” she murmured. “That makes sense.”

  Clenching Jeremiah’s racecar, she asked. “Can you tell me how to save my son? Is he already lost?”

  A-Jeroth’s mark was placed upon the boy when he was yet a small child—

  The Insequent regarded Linden with one eye and then the other. “Sadly,” she said, “the Mahdoubt has no knowledge of this. It transcends her. In some measure, she has made of herself an adept of Time—as did the Theomach as well, assuredly, though in another form. But she beholds only the time in which she manifests herself, neither its past nor its future. Thus she is unable to witness her own future. Her present is here. Beyond this moment, she may estimate intentions and perils, but she cannot observe deeds and outcomes which lie ahead.

  “The Theomach’s powers were greater than the Mahdoubt’s.”

  Linden winced involuntarily; but she did not protest. She trusted the Mahdoubt. And Lord Foul had promised her through Anele, In time you will behold the fruit of my endeavors. If your son serves me, he will do so in your presence. If I slaughter him, I will do so before you. If you discover him, you will only hasten his doom. Roger had assured her that he and the Despiser still had plans for Jeremiah.

  I do not reveal my aims to such as you.

  For that reason, she chose to believe that her son was not beyond redemption. While Lord Foul still had a use for him, he would not be irreparably damaged—and she could hope to reach him.

  Steadying herself on the stone of her heart, Linden said, “In that case, tell me why you didn’t expose Roger and the croyel when they first arrived. In Garroting Deep, you said that you aren’t wise enough to interfere with what you considered ‘needful.’ But that was ten thousand years ago. You had to be careful. This is now. How could what Roger and that monster did to me be needful?”

  The Mahdoubt could have spared her—

  In response, chagrin and sorrow closed the woman’s features. She lowered the contradiction of her eyes: for a moment, she seemed to fumble within herself. When she replied, her voice was thick with sadness.

  “Lady, the Mahdoubt comprehends your pain. Assuredly she herself must appear to be your treacher, for she stood aside while betrayal was wrought against you. If you choose condemnation, she cannot gainsay you.”

  The Insequent knotted her fingers together. Her hands twisted at each other. “But if in aught the Mahdoubt has won your regard, then she observes—with respect, aye, and mourning also—that you have gained knowledge which you did not formerly possess. And had you not suffered and striven as you did, you would not have become who you are. The Mahdoubt could not foresee such an outcome when you were taken by your foes. She was able only to perceive that you were not then equal to the Land’s plight.

  “Lady, you have become greater. That the Mahdoubt deemed needful.”

  Linden scowled at her companion; but her anger was for herself, not the Mahdoubt. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean that to sound like an accusation.” It was certainly true that she knew more now. “I’m proud to call you my friend. I’m just trying to understand as much as I can.”

  She had not become greater. She had simply been made harder and more certain.

  Slowly the Mahdoubt raised her head. Her blue eye was damp with relief or gratitude, but the orange one glared like a promise of ferocity. “Pssht, my lady,” she said again. “You have no need of the Mahdoubt’s forgiveness. It is given before it is asked. Assuredly so. Your gratitude”—she indicated her robe—“has claimed her old heart.

  “Inquire what you will. The Mahdoubt will attempt better answers.”

  Now it was Linden who looked away. While she prepared herself, she muttered. “My real problem with what you did is that I feel so damn stupid. I should have seen the truth for myself. About Roger, anyway.” Jeremiah’s presence had confounded her utterly. “But he did things—

  “How could he drink springwine?” she blurted. “How could either of them? It has aliantha in it.”

  That was only one of the many means by which Covenant’s son had confused her. The Ramen believed that No servant of Fangthane craves or will consume aliantha.

  “Ah.” The Mahdoubt nodded in recognition. “Assuredly. That chicane arose from the halfhand’s portion of the nature of the Elohim. The Elohim are not hampered by mortal distastes. With the cursed gift of such a hand, your betrayer received both the power of glamour, of seeming, and the capacity to set aside his revulsion for the goodly health of the Land. These given strengths he also employed to veil and ward the cruel beast which rules your son. Thus his loathing, and your son’s, for aliantha in springwine was hidden.

  “Your wits did not fail you, my lady,” she added kindly. “Think no ill of yourself. Your foes’ deeds and appearances were prepared one and all for your consternation. You were hastened from event to event to assure that you found no occasion to imagine their concealment.” The woman nodded again. “There was no fault in you.”

  “Then—” With an effort, Linden dragged her attention away from Roger’s and the croyel’s manipulations. If she considered them too closely, she might founder in outrage. They have done this to my son. For a moment, she closed her eyes, gathered herself. When she opened them again, she faced her companion squarely.

  “The Theomach told me that he would protect history from what I did, but I don’t know whether I can trust him. I don’t know how that’s even possible.”

  How had she not set in motion ripples which would change everything?

  The Mahdoubt shook her head, turning it from side to side so that first her orange eye and then her blue one regarded Linden brightly. “My lady,” she said with an air of intention, urging Linden to believe her, “you may be assured that the Theomach did not neglect such matters. Does your heart not beat? Do your words not convey their meaning? And do these simple truths not proclaim that the Law of Time endures? It is manifest that you have not broken faith with the past.

  “Yet the Mahdoubt may observe,” she added as if Linden had expressed doubt, “that Law seeks its own path. Diverted, it strives to return. Your exertion of Earthpower among Berek Heartthew’s warriors was easily transmuted to serve the Theomach’s purpose. You have not forgotten—assuredly not—that the Theomach found a place as the Lord-Fatherer’s tutor. Thus he was able to account for your presence and deeds in any manner which conformed to his own intentions—and to his knowledge of Time.

  “My lady, he made of you the first of the Unfettered, those who in the time of the Lords sought lore and wisdom solitarily, as do the Insequent, according to their private natures. At the Theomach’s word, a tradition and a legend began from the wonderment of your aid, and all that has since transpired in the Land has confirmed it.”

  Linden listened in surprise and gradual comprehension. She had heard of the Unfettered—Covenant had told her a little about them after Sunder’s half-mad father had called himself a descendant of the Unfettered One.

  “Understand, my lady,” the Mahdoubt continued, “that the Theomach did not require your presence or your aid. He merely made use of you. Had you not appeared, he would have contrived to win the Heartthew’s trust by other means. And he would have proposed the legend of the Unfettered to justify his own knowledge and power. Such ploys were needful to preserve the Arch.

  “Nor did the visitation of your betrayers challenge the Theomach’s cleverness.” The older woman sighed heavily. “Among the Lords of later ages, there endured a belief that the Halfhand, the Lord-Fatherer, would one day return to meet the Land’s need. As events befell, the Theomach was not greatly troubled to bring forth such a tale from the form of those who accompanied you.”

  For a moment, her voice held an edge of disapproval. “His purposes we
re his own, and selfish. All that he did conduced to his own aggrandizement. Therefore he did not scruple upon occasion to offer the Lord-Fatherer instruction which was either flawed or incomplete. Assuredly, however, he would have drawn upon the full depth of his knowledge to preserve the wholeness of that which ensued from his desires.

  “The Insequent and the Elohim share only this, my lady, that we do not desire the destruction of the Earth.”

  The Theomach had said virtually the same thing. Even Roger had said it.

  And Linden had seen for herself how little Berek had known or understood in the aftermath of his encounter with the Fire-Lions. The Theomach could have told him anything, and he would have had no choice except to credit it.

  As she drank more of Glimmermere’s waters, her mind grew sharper. There were so many things that she wanted to know. Because the Mahdoubt had said that she would depart soon, Linden began to hurry.

  “All right,” she said. “I don’t really understand how the Theomach knew what his own future required. But if you explained it, I probably still wouldn’t understand.

  “What can you tell me about that box? The way the croyel transported us into the mountain?” She winced at the memory. “Or used my son to do it. Is Jeremiah really capable of making portals? Doors through time and distance? And if he is, what does that have to do with the Elohim?”

  Had Roger told her the truth about Jeremiah’s deadwood construct?

  The Mahdoubt spread her hands to suggest a warning. “Is the lady’s query condign?” she asked herself. “The Mahdoubt deems it so. Yet there is peril here. She must display great care.

  “My lady,” she said to Linden. “your son’s gifts are certain. The Mahdoubt can estimate neither their extent nor their uses. However, their worth is beyond question. Both the Vizard’s interest and a-Jeroth’s machinations proclaim that there is power concealed within your chosen child.”