The Last Dark

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Illumined by Loric’s gem, Brinn’s eyes shone among their wrinkles with a warmth of affection that Covenant had not seen in any other Haruchai face.

  “It is well,” Brinn continued, “that you have reawakened the Vilesilencer’s krill.” Strain complicated his tone, but not his gaze. “Lacking some beacon to guide me across the wide seas, my search for you might have been delayed. However, you have done what must be done, as you have done from the first. For that reason among many others, I swallow my sorrow and greet you gladly, ur-Lord and Unbeliever, Thomas Covenant, friend.”

  Still Covenant stared. Only the pervasive force of Brinn’s acquired theurgy kept him from crumpling. Never in life had Brinn of the Haruchai called him friend.

  Sudden woe and rue and gratitude clogged his throat. He had to choke them down before he was able to inquire hoarsely, “What are you doing here?”

  At the Isle of the One Tree, Brinn had told him, That is the grace which has been given to you, to bear what must be borne. Surely now Covenant had reached the limit of what he could be expected to endure?

  Still Brinn did not glance at either of the Humbled. His attention belonged to Covenant alone. Speaking more sternly, as if he were setting friendship aside, he replied, “All things exist organically. This you know, Unbeliever. As one swells, another dwindles. As the Worm of death rises, the Tree of life declines.” A lift of his hand referred to the heavens. “After long ages of slumber, the Worm now draws nigh unto the Land, seeking its final sustenance. In natural consequence, the One Tree expires to its roots. Thus I am freed of my Guardianship.

  “Alas, my powers diminish as the Tree fails. I am made less by the deaths of stars and Elohim. And it was never my task to preserve the Worm’s sleep, except by protecting the One Tree. I have no virtue to oppose the World’s End. Nor am I permitted to do so, regardless of the leanings of my heart. That burden is yours, Unbeliever, as it is the Chosen’s as well, and also her son’s. Together you must save or damn the Earth, as it was foretold in the time of the Old Lords.”

  Then the ak-Haru’s manner softened until it resembled his gaze. “Yet I will not disregard the leanings of my heart. When I had achieved the stewardship of the One Tree, and you were thereby grieved, I assured you that good would come of it, when there was need. That promise I fain would honor. Therefore have I journeyed hither while some small portion of my strength endures, bringing both gifts and counsel. Mayhap thereafter I will also be able to perform a service or grant a boon, if my life does not fray and fall in the attempt.”

  Covenant went on staring as though he had been made witless. Part of him heard hope in every word. Part of him had already fled toward Linden, thinking, Gifts? Counsel? A chance to make things right with her? And part of him remained stunned, too astonished to comprehend anything. Brinn had come like a figure in a dream. In another moment, he would depart in the same fashion, with the same effectlessness.

  But the Guardian of the One Tree did not appear to take offense at Covenant’s silence. His affection seemed to accept every facet of Covenant’s condition. Nodding at what he saw, the ak-Haru took one step back from the krill. Then at last he looked at Branl and Clyme, still half kneeling, still bowing their heads in homage.

  Now his mien darkened. Lines of anger tightened his visage.

  “First, however,” he pronounced severely, “I will deliver myself of a reprimand which has long festered within me, tainting my regard for those whom I must name my people.

  “Haruchai, Masters, Humbled, I have come to reproach you.”

  At once, Clyme and Branl arose. The manner in which they surged to their feet and folded their arms conveyed surprise and indignation. In every line, their stances offered defiance.

  Stolid as a graven image, Branl stated, “You are the ak-Haru who was once named Kenaustin Ardenol, though you are now Brinn of the Haruchai. We do not lightly gainsay you. If you have cause to reproach us, however, you discern some fault which we do not find in ourselves.

  “The weakness of uncertainty we acknowledge. Failure we likewise acknowledge. Against our given word, we have permitted Desecration, upon occasion because we were opposed by those whom we esteem, and upon occasion because the ur-Lord Thomas Covenant commanded it. Yet we have stood as Halfhands at his side. For his sake, we have dared the Lost Deep and She Who Must Not Be Named and Esmer mere-son. We have confronted the skurj and Cavewights and the Unbeliever’s own misbegotten scion. We have entered into a Fall, hazarding endless banishment from time and life, and have there given aid to the ur-Lord when he could not aid himself.

  “You are the ak-Haru. Would you have done otherwise in our place? Wherefore will you reproach us?”

  Brinn dismissed Branl’s protest with a soft snort. “Your valor is beyond aspersion,” he answered as if such things were trivial. Thunderclouds of ire seemed to gather about his head, contradicting the twilight and the clear stars. “Set aside your pride and hear me.

  “Doubtless others have spoken of arrogance. I do not. Rather the fault with which I charge you is simony.” He spat that word. His eyes flashed dangerously, echoing the krill’s radiance. “You have grown ungenerous of spirit, demeaning what would else have been a proud heritage. You have withheld knowledge from the folk of the Land when knowledge might have nurtured strength. And you have withheld trust from Linden Avery the Chosen, setting yourselves in opposition to her efforts and sacrifices because you were unable to share her love and passion. These are the deeds of misers. They do not become you.

  “Upon a time, the Haruchai were not ungiving in this fashion. Had they not been ruled by open-handedness, they would have been less grievously stung by the Vizard’s scorn. Yet open their hands were, and open they remained. The bonds among them were as vital as sun and snows, and as enduring as mountains. The wounds of scorn they sought to heal by open means, in direct challenge and honest combat. Thus it was that High Lord Kevin’s generosity moved them to emulation. The Vow of the Bloodguard expressed an answering generosity, a desire to repay expansive welcome with expansive service until both welcome and service overflowed.

  “Yet across the millennia of your Mastery you have allowed harsh times and cruel circumstances to bar the doors of your hearts. I will not cite your reasons for doing so, lest you deem yourselves thereby excused. Rather I say to you plainly that you have diminished yourselves until I am loath to acknowledge you as my people.”

  Instinctively Covenant wanted to defend Clyme and Branl. Oh, he agreed with the Guardian. How could he not? Nevertheless the Humbled had stood by him like the Haruchai of old. They had saved him again and again when he could not have saved himself.

  But his companions did not turn to him for justification. They did not look at him at all. As if they were proud to be castigated, they faced Brinn squarely.

  “Ak-Haru,” Clyme replied, “this accusation is unjust.” Tautness marred his flat tone. “We do not comprehend it. What deed of ours—or of any Master—has given rise to your wrath?”

  At once, the Guardian retorted, “Are you truly so blind that you see no fault in naming yourselves ‘the Masters of the Land’?” His voice had become a distant rattle of thunder. In spite of his diminishment, his words had the power to summon storms. “The Land is not a thing to be possessed as though it were a garment. It was not created for your use, that you might hazard it in a vain attempt to heal your ancient humiliation.”

  Unmoved, Branl countered, “Yet you yourself have done as we do. You are our exemplar. Our distrust of Linden Avery we learned first from you, who saw Corruption’s hand at work in her, and who strove to preserve the Unbeliever from her errors.”

  Omens of lightning glared from Brinn’s eyes. “I concede,” he answered, “that I trod your path when I forsook the Unbeliever’s service. What of it? Did Cail not return to speak of the Chosen’s salvific efforts at the Isle of the One Tree? And if you did not heed him, did you also fail to heed the First of the Search and Pitchwife when they described the forming of a new
Staff of Law, and the unmaking of the Sunbane?

  “No,” he said harshly. “Do not protest that you have endeavored to treat the Chosen with both restraint and respect. I am not swayed. Your restraint and your respect are as miserly as your deeds. Had you permitted them to do so, the Giants would have reminded you that open hands and open spirits were once valued among the Haruchai. Yet for many centuries you have offered the kindred of the Unhomed naught but unwelcome.

  “Unwelcome, forsooth!” The ak-Haru’s indignation was a thunderclap. “For the Giants, of all the peoples of the Earth. That is my reproach. Humbled, Masters, Haruchai, I marvel that you are not shamed.”

  Now even Covenant’s numbed nerves and blunt health-sense felt tension rising in the Humbled. Brinn’s objurgation stirred millennia of suppressed passions, of ire and resentment and denied helplessness, into living flames.

  Speaking softly, ominously, Clyme asked, “Do you seek to renew our humiliation? Is that the purpose which has brought you among us, the last purpose of your life?”

  “Paugh!” The Guardian made a dismissive gesture with both hands. “I am done with you. You do not hear, and so you cannot be redeemed. From this moment, I speak only to the Unbeliever. He will not disregard the remnants of my life, as you have done.”

  His gesture seemed to dispel the sensation of storms seething around him. He was definitely growing weaker, but he did not act weakened. Simply by turning away from the Humbled, he thwarted their outrage; cast them into shadow. Now they stood silent, like men whose mouths had been sealed. When Brinn faced Covenant again, he was smiling with a hint of remorse—and also with an air of satisfaction.

  On the far side of the krill, he seated himself cross-legged in front of Covenant. His eyes in their nests of seams and wrinkles glittered with refreshed affection. He sat with his elbows braced on his thighs and his chin propped on his fists; held himself leaning forward to study Covenant more closely. When Brinn was comfortably settled, however, he said nothing. Instead he gazed at Covenant as if he, the ak-Haru, had been made content by the sight of his old friend’s face.

  Covenant wanted to lie down. His forehead throbbed, and broken bones gnawed like teeth in his chest, biting deeper with every slight movement. Brinn’s obscure intentions and the dammed fury of the Humbled and his own wounds exceeded him. He ached to close his eyes and slump backward and let everything go.

  Yet he did not. His heart had not forgotten its stubborn litany of loves and needs. And the Guardian had come because he wanted to help in some fashion. Covenant could not allow himself to lapse while so much remained unresolved.

  With an effort that nearly made him sob, he muttered, “You aren’t exactly being fair. You know that, don’t you?”

  Brinn’s smile grew warmer. “It is for this that I esteem you, Thomas Covenant—this among many other qualities. Regardless of your own plight, you do not neglect the hurts of your companions.” Then his mien assumed more somber lines. “But now we must take counsel together. Your wounds are grave, my friend. Some healing you must have. Yet with healing will come sleep. It must, for your need is extreme. Therefore we must converse before I expend my waning strength. If you have not chosen your course, these Humbled will determine it on your behalf—and they will not determine wisely.”

  Covenant groaned. “You see me. You know what I’ve done. What’s left? What can I possibly hope to accomplish?”

  He meant, Take me to Linden. If you have that kind of power, use it. Before I’m too far gone to tell her I’m sorry.

  The Guardian nodded. “Indeed, Unbeliever, I see you. Your desires are plain to me. You yearn to be reunited with Linden Avery the Chosen for the Land’s sake, and for your own. Were these Humbled less parsimonious in their dealings, they would honor the passion which binds you to your loves. But I must urge you to reconsider the Land’s peril.

  “You have slain your former mate, a deed costly to you, and hurtful, yet nonetheless necessary. What then remains for you to attempt? Have you forgotten turiya Herem? He who reveled in your former mate’s agony and abasement? He is not slain. Of that I need not assure you. You are already certain of it.”

  Oh, hell, Covenant thought. Turiya? But he did not have enough life left to curse aloud. On the fall of a shuddering breath, he asked, “You want me to go after him?”

  Brinn’s study did not waver. Instead of answering directly, he inquired, “He has failed Corruption’s chief intent for him. What will he now essay in restitution?”

  Hellfire. Covenant groaned again. He was in no shape to think, much less talk. Nevertheless he did what he could. Brinn had called him friend.

  “He’ll try to possess someone else. Or something else. He isn’t good for much unless he’s wearing a body.”

  The ak-Haru leaned closer. “Then whose flesh will he assume? Not yours, that is certain. He is not such a fool. Nor will he attempt the Humbled. Their intransigence has not waned. He cannot rule them. Among the skest, he may perchance strive to attain your death. But they are little, and by nature timorous, readily cowed. Also I deem that turiya Herem is too prideful to be contented by them.”

  Covenant peered past the actinic brightness of the krill as if he were going blind. “So—?” His former companion faded in and out of focus. Give me a hint. I can’t keep doing this.

  The Raver had a long head start.

  Brinn watched as though his gaze could penetrate Covenant’s soul. “I ask again. Whose flesh will he assume? Of those that fear the Worm’s coming, which is comparatively near? Which is driven by hungers apt for possession?”

  Covenant flinched at an intuitive leap. “What, the lurker?” He stared through a blur of argent and failing consciousness. “You want me to go after turiya before he can possess the lurker?”

  So far, the monster had kept its word. True to the alliance, Horrim Carabal had sent the Feroce to rescue Covenant and the Humbled from the skest. But still—The lurker of the Sarangrave had been a tale of horror for millennia. In some sense, it was the Despiser’s creation. Directly or indirectly, Lord Foul had invoked an immense and sentient atrocity from the poisons leaking out of Mount Thunder.

  Now Brinn wanted Covenant to defend that—that thing—from turiya Herem?

  The Guardian replied with a grin as poignant as the deaths of stars. “Name a better purpose, my friend, and I will honor it.”

  Covenant meant to say, No. That’s insane. But then he thought, So what? The Worm was coming. He had killed Joan. Everything was insane. The idea of trying to track down and stop a Raver—in his condition—was probably no crazier than his desire to see Linden again.

  Over the course of his life in the Land, he had caused or allowed terrible bloodshed. The Riders of the Clave whom he had killed personally were minor casualties compared to the uncounted villagers and Haruchai that he had forsaken to slaughter while he searched for the One Tree. Saltheart Foamfollower had died helping him. Inadvertently he had killed Elena, his own daughter. Then he had brought about the sacrifice of her spirit to She Who Must Not Be Named.

  But he had never struck a blow against the Despiser’s most fatal servants. And the lurker possessed by a Raver would be an appalling foe. More insidiously dangerous than Roger and a whole host of Cavewights. Conceivably more powerful than skurj and Sandgorgons. If that monster challenged Linden, she would have to face it without Covenant or love.

  Thinking about her made his wounds burn. His damaged ribs were acid and remorse in his chest. He wanted—Oh, he wanted. Nevertheless he understood Brinn.

  He rubbed at the crust around his eyes, touched the fresh accusation on his forehead. Eventually he managed to mutter, “Damnation, Brinn. I’m going to need a horse.”

  The ak-Haru beamed at him like Loric’s gem. “And you will not ride the Ranyhyn. For this also I esteem you, ur-Lord. Yet a steed has been offered to you. You need only speak the beast’s name.”

  Brinn’s voice invoked memories. As if from a great distance, Covenant heard the dying croak of the
Ardent’s last gift.

  “Ah.” In spite of his satisfaction, Brinn’s sigh conveyed a tinge of regret. “I see the recall in your gaze. My friend, you are indeed as I have remembered you. I am now content to provide those gifts which lie within my power.”

  His vigor seemed undimmed as he rose to his feet.

  “Remain only a short while,” he urged Covenant. “Your healing will be my second gift. Here is my first.”

  While Covenant watched, stupefied by too many hurts, Brinn raised a hand to his mouth and gave one sharp whistle as clear as a commandment.

  Covenant was losing his grip on consciousness. The only Haruchai who had ever called him friend had asked too much of him. He was no longer sure of what he saw or heard. The Guardian’s call may have echoed through the maze of the Shattered Hills. The stars appeared to draw closer. They seemed to cry out. Perhaps their wailing was underscored by a clatter of hooves, irregular and indefinite.

  When the Ranyhyn arrived with their star-blazed foreheads shining like the emblems of Elohim, Covenant thought that he saw four of them.

  Two must have been Mhornym and Naybahn. They looked worse than Covenant felt. Ripped flesh hung in strips from their sides, exposing the damaged gleam of bones, especially along their ribs and on their knees. Blood oozed everywhere as if they were coated in ruin. They limped on legs that should not have supported them, and their eyes were dull with mute agony.

  But they were still alive. They had heard Brinn’s call. Somehow they had found the resolve to answer.

  Proudly the ak-Haru announced, “Here are heroes. They have participated bravely and well in the defense of the Earth. Such battles are not won at a single stroke. They must be fought incrementally, by one selfless act of valor following another in its necessary sequence. Now Naybahn and Mhornym have completed their task. Their part is done. Though my strength wanes, I will preserve them. Then I will release them. While the Earth endures, no further service will be asked of them.”