The Runes of the Earth

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Then she knotted one fist on Covenant’s ring under her shirt. “But Lord Foul isn’t the only one who has access to wild magic.” And he could not truly control Joan: her madness made her unwieldy. “If I can find a Fall, maybe I can make it take me where I want to go.”

  Linden seemed to feel the high mountainheads leaning toward her. A moment of shock held the ring. Then several of her companions protested at once.

  “You will break the Law of Time! You have said so.”

  “Caesures threaten Time. Wild magic itself threatens it.”

  “It is impossible. You will fail, and be lost.”

  “Anele is mad! He cannot guide you to the Staff!”

  But Mahrtiir’s voice rode over the others, ringing with eagerness. “Are you adept at Time? Are such journeys common in your world? How will you find the time you seek?”

  Linden closed her eyes; waited for her silence to create a space in which she could reply. She feared that Stave or Liand would cross the circle to shake her; defy her with their bare hands. But their objections, their dismay, seemed to blow past her on the dawn breeze and lose strength.

  Then she heard a soft melody as Dohn began to sing:

  “Grass-grown hooves, and forehead stars;

  hocks and withers earth-wood bloom:

  egal Ranyhyn, gallop, run—

  we serve the Tail of the Sky,

  Mane of the World.”

  He may have been granting her permission. Or hope.

  As if she had regained her heart, Linden opened her eyes. Because her companions were too many to face or answer all at once, she focused on the Manethralls; on Hami, who seemed to be her friend.

  “Anele can guide me to the cave where he left the Staff,” she said with as much conviction as she could summon. “If he gets the chance. He’s already been back there any number of times. All I have to do is take him to the right year.” Any year after the loss that had broken him. “He’ll find his way.

  “And I don’t think I’ll hurt the Law of Time. For one thing, it’s not all that fragile. If it were, a hundred years of caesures would have shattered it already,” in spite of Covenant’s poignant surrender. “And for another—

  “The Staff hasn’t been used since Anele lost it. It hasn’t changed anything. It hasn’t done anything. That’s what being lost means.” Surely the Haruchai, if no one else, would have become aware of it otherwise? “Taking it out of the past and bringing it here won’t disrupt what’s already happened.”

  And she had one reason to believe that her extravagant proposal might succeed. The Staff was no longer where Anele had left it. Obsessed by grief and self-recrimination, he had confirmed that fact over and over again.

  Which apparently implied—

  —that she had been able, or would be able, to retrieve it.

  Leaving the Law of Time intact in the process.

  No one contradicted her. She could not read Stave’s heart through his impassivity; but the others around her were too shaken to protest further. They must have believed her; believed that she would do what she had said.

  Their silence frightened her more than almost any opposition. She needed to confront and overcome their fears in order to manage her own.

  Grimly she forced herself to continue.

  “Of course, I’ll need to locate a caesure.” She did not trust herself to create one: not without experiencing one first, reading it with her health-sense; learning to understand it. “But that’s not the real problem.”

  Holding Hami’s troubled gaze, Linden said, “The real problem is that I’m not ‘adept at Time.’ I can’t find my way through the confusion in a caesure. I need to reach the Staff at some point after Anele lost it,” or else she would indeed alter the past, “and I don’t know how to do that.”

  She was certain that the Manethrall understood her.

  “I asked Esmer. He said, ‘Look to the Ranyhyn.’ ” Clenching her courage in both hands, one on Covenant’s ring, the other wrapped around itself, she finished, “I assume that means they can help me.”

  Hami turned her face away as if she were flinching.

  For a moment, none of the Manethralls met the demand in Linden’s eyes. Instead they looked to each other. Linden had never felt in them the kind of mental communion which distinguished the Haruchai. Nevertheless they appeared to acknowledge each other’s apprehensions mutely; to ask each other Linden’s implicit question.

  Then Dohn said softly, “The Ranyhyn will choose. They must. It is not our place. This matter is beyond us.”

  Mahrtiir nodded reluctantly, as if he were being asked to set aside a secret desire.

  Hami’s reluctance was of another kind as she faced Linden again. So hesitantly that Linden could barely hear her, the Manethrall replied, “It may be that the Ranyhyn are able to aid you—and will elect to do so. We know nothing of caesures or Falls. We are bound by Time. Yet the great horses are capable of much. That is certain.

  “And it is certain also”—she faltered, then went on more strongly—“that they will answer when they are summoned. Once they have consented to be ridden, they will answer when they are summoned, though hundreds of leagues may intervene.”

  Linden stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  Hami tightened her grip on herself. “Ringthane, hear me. At this moment, there are no Ranyhyn within this vale. We are Ramen and cannot be mistaken in this. Neither Hyn nor Hynyn roams the Verge of Wandering. Yet if you were to summon her, Hyn would approach within moments.” She held up her hand to prevent questions that Linden did not know how to ask. “If you stood in Mithil Stonedown and summoned her, she would appear at once. If you stood above ancient Revelstone itself and could not be approached except through the Westron Mountains, yet would she shortly answer your summons.

  “Understand, Ringthane, that I do not speak of distance. The Ranyhyn do not transcend the difficulties of their journeys. Rather their power to answer is a power over days and seasons.”

  Linden’s eyes widened in wonder and apprehension. Alarm or hope swelled in her throat.

  “The Ranyhyn do not spurn distance,” Hami breathed as though the knowledge dismayed her. “They spurn time. They do not merely respond when they are summoned. Rather they hear that they will be summoned, and they respond. If the distance is great, and the obstacles also, the Ranyhyn will depart moons or seasons before they are summoned, that they may arrive when they are needed.”

  On some level beyond language or explication, they had mastered time.

  “Oh, God,” Linden murmured, hardly aware that she spoke aloud. “It’s possible. If they help me. I might be able to do it.”

  Abruptly, Stave said, “Chosen.” The pain of his hip was palpable as he forced himself to his feet. Stiff with hurt, he moved to stand over Linden. For this one moment, at least, his characteristic dispassion had deserted him. Instead his flat features were knotted with pleading and repudiation.

  “Chosen,” he said again.

  She stared up at him as though she could not imagine what he would say, although she already knew every word by heart.

  “You will not do this.” Complex passions yearned in his voice. “It is abominable. Its hazards surpass endurance. The smallest error will damn the Land utterly.” With a visible effort, he swallowed some of his intensity. “Must I remind you that the Staff supports and sustains Law by its very existence? It need not be wielded in order to affect all that is, all that transpires. If its influence upon the Land’s past is removed, will not Corruption respond with delight?”

  Linden bowed her head. She could not face the heat of his denial. “Stave,” she breathed, speaking as much to her clenched hands as to him, “I have to.”

  “No,” he countered with unwonted vehemence, “you do not. It is madness. Have you considered that Corruption has required three millennia to regain his strength? Have you considered that he has remained so long reduced because the Staff has been potent against him? Are these matters not plain to
you? Unused, the Staff has also not been misused. Therefore it hinders Corruption still. Likewise such atrocities as the Falls have been restrained and limited by the Staff’s hidden suasion.

  “If you will not think of such things, then consider the Masters. We are sworn to the preservation of the Land. Toward that end, we have labored across the centuries to prevent the misuse of power which enables Corruption. You have earned my forbearance. I do not wish to oppose you. But my enmity—the enmity of the Haruchai—is certain if you persist. You are mighty, as we know. Yet I must prevent you. And if I cannot, even your puissance will not avail you against the combined force of the Masters.”

  Every word he said was true: Linden knew that. But he had said too much, and she could no longer hear him. Crying, “You don’t understand!” she surged to her feet.

  Obliquely, she saw that Liand had come to Stave’s side, ready to defend her if the Master attacked. However, the Manethralls remained seated, watching her with consternation in their eyes. Bhapa crouched as if he had started to rise with Liand, and had been stopped by a word from the Manethralls.

  But they were all irrelevant to her now. It was Stave who confronted her, Stave who challenged her; and he could snap her neck with one sharp blow, in spite of his hurts. Even if she were capable of defending herself, she could not bear to think that he would become her enemy. Another foe among so many—

  Ignoring the pain in his hip, the Master faced her. His mien resumed its familiar flat detachment. “Then inform me, Chosen,” he replied inflexibly. The pallor of his scar seemed to reject whatever she might say. “What is it that I do not understand?”

  Desperation rose in her like fury. But it was not anger that filled her voice: it was supplication.

  “Don’t you remember last night? Do you even listen to yourself when you talk? I asked you why the Ramen haven’t forgiven you for trying to use the Illearth Stone, and you said it’s because they weren’t present. They can’t know what the Bloodguard suffered in Seareach because they weren’t there.

  “But you don’t know me any better than the Ramen know you.” Transformed by pleading, she met his stare as if her own fear could no longer touch her. “Oh, your people remember everything. But you’re like the Ramen. You weren’t there. You were so worried about repeating your mistake with the Illearth Stone that you stayed behind when Covenant and I went to face Lord Foul.

  “You weren’t there when Covenant sacrificed himself. You weren’t there when I took his ring and turned Vain and Findail into the Staff of Law, or when I erased the Sunbane, or when—” For an instant, she choked on the memory of Covenant’s farewell. Then she shouted, “And you sure as hell weren’t there when Covenant and I were summoned in the first place!” When Jeremiah had burned away half of his right hand in the Despiser’s bonfire. “You think you have the right to pass judgment, but you don’t know what’s at stake for me.”

  Stave appeared to consider her assertion briefly. Then he shook his head. “You have not answered. Your words explain nothing. You make plain that you disdain the necessary choices of the Haruchai. You see it as a fault in us that we will never again hazard being made to serve Corruption. You also pass judgment, yet you reveal nothing.

  “We do not propose to bear white gold into the heart of a Fall. It is not our intent to dare the utter destruction of the Earth.”

  “Then listen,” Linden begged. He had missed the point completely. Like the Ramen, he did not know how to forgive. “I have to do this.

  “Lord Foul has my son.”

  3.

  The Will of the Ranyhyn

  “Your son?”

  If Stave felt any surprise or concern, his body did not show it. Linden could not read his emotions.

  Nevertheless she found that she was done with pleading. “His name,” she sighed, “is Jeremiah.” Her efforts to persuade the Master cost her too much of her courage. “Foul took him while we were being translated to the Land. A few days ago. I don’t suppose you can imagine what he’s going through, but I can.” She had been possessed by a Raver. “You can say whatever you want. I’m not going to let anything stop me.”

  The Master’s stolid demeanor revealed nothing as he averred, “You must. Your purpose is madness. The Earth will perish, and your son with it.”

  Oh, hell. Mentally she threw up her hands. “Then don’t come with me. You should be able to ride in a few days.” His hip would heal sufficiently in that time. “Take your Ranyhyn and go tell the rest of the Masters what I’m doing. They’ll need time to organize your famous ‘enmity.’ ”

  Do anything you want. Just don’t try to stop me yourself.

  Stave lifted an eyebrow. Perhaps she had surprised him in spite of his restraint. However, she heard no change in his tone as he replied, “In one thing, Chosen, you have spoken truly. I do not comprehend. Among us children are precious beyond expression. Yet no Haruchai would permit a greater harm in order to secure the life of any son or daughter.”

  Then he stepped back. “It will be as you say. In ages past, the Haruchai have doubted you—and have learned that they were mistaken. And we have not been present to share your burdens. Their cost is hidden from us. Therefore I will not strive to prevent you now. Rather I will bear word of your actions to the Masters. Together we will determine how we must respond.”

  Limping, he turned away; left her to the Ramen and Liand.

  Linden had gained that much, if nothing more. He had not struck her down.

  Yet now her enemies numbered in the hundreds.

  Liand’s desire to understand her as well as the Master was tangible between them. But she felt too bereft and vulnerable to answer his unspoken questions. Deliberately she stepped past him in order to stand in front of the Manethralls.

  “What about you?” she asked sadly. How could they not turn their backs on her? “A little while ago, you assured me that I’m welcome here.” Without stint or hindrance. “Do you agree with Stave? Have you changed your minds?

  “I swear to you that I wouldn’t do this if I could think of any other way to save my son.”

  She absolutely required the Staff of Law. To that extent, at least, her dreams of Thomas Covenant had proven themselves.

  And he had told her to find him. She could not imagine where else she might look, except in the past.

  Hami, Dohn, and Mahrtiir shared a look. Then, together, they rose to their feet.

  “Ah, Ringthane,” Hami sighed, smiling ruefully. “Be at peace among us. You have naught to fear from the Ramen. The Ranyhyn have accepted you. Therefore we may not oppose you, though the peril which you intend for them surpasses our imagining.”

  “Yet if you will accept my counsel,” Mahrtiir put in, “you will permit me to accompany you. It will aid you to have a companion who is able to care for the Ranyhyn when you cannot. I scout as well as any Raman—and fight as well also. And I am hardy and Earth-wise. I can provide food and shelter where none appear.

  “If you do not discover aliantha, what will you eat?” Haste quickened his words. “If you have no shelter, where will you sleep? If you encounter no friends, who will defend you? If—”

  Hami placed her hand on Mahrtiir’s shoulder; and abruptly he stopped. Facing Linden with eagerness in his eyes, he repeated, “Permit me to accompany you,” and said no more.

  He troubled her. She already knew that she would miss Stave’s knowledge and prowess. Mahrtiir offered her much that she could not supply for herself—and could not reasonably expect from either Liand or Anele. Yet she was reluctant to take more people into danger. And she was not entirely sure that she could trust the Manethrall. He seemed too eager to prove something—

  But how could she reject any form of help? She would need more assistance than Mahrtiir could give her: that was obvious. Apart from the Ramen, however, there was no one who could aid her except Esmer and the ur-viles; and she had no idea how to ask them.

  Slowly she nodded to Mahrtiir. “If you’re willing to face the risk. If
your people don’t need you here.”

  Surely there were Cords in his care? What would happen to them? She could not lead people as young as Pahni and Char, girls and boys, children, into a caesure.

  But Mahrtiir’s gaze lit up as if she had set a match to tinder; and Hami and Dohn said nothing to dissuade him.

  Instead the older Manethrall asked a question for the first time. “How will you return?”

  Unprepared to reveal what she had in mind, Linden blinked at him dumbly.

  Dohn did not meet her stare. He had resumed watching the mountains, apparently looking for unmotivated storms and violence; for signs of Esmer.

  “You will enter a Fall,” he explained quietly, “a flaw in Time, and turn it to the past. There you will seek the Staff of Law. Very well. When you have found it”—his tone held an implicit if—“what then?

  “At the best, your search will require hours. It may well consume days. The Fall will move on. Perhaps it will cease to exist altogether. You will remain in the past, as unable then to regain your son as you are now.

  “How will you return?”

  Unwittingly he asked Linden to put her worst fear into words. Ever since she had realized the truth, during her vigil over Stave the previous night, she had avoided thinking about it; admitting it to herself. Yet the Ramen deserved an answer. Certainly Liand did.

  Her pulse labored in her temples as she said, “If I can’t use the first one, I’ll have to make a new caesure.”

  During her translation to the Land, she had seen herself rouse the Worm of the World’s End with white fire. Perhaps Lord Foul had already accomplished his aim. By kidnapping Jeremiah, he may have ensured the Land’s destruction. If she misjudged her power, or herself, or the stability of the Arch, she might bring Time to an end.

  More because she needed some mundane activity to calm her than because she was still hungry, she resumed her seat in order to drink more water and finish the contents of her bowl. If she meant to risk the ruin of the Earth, she would at least do so on a full stomach.