“I don’t mean “here” the way I am now.” He seemed to grope for words. “I wasn’t a prisoner. I wasn’t even physical. And I didn’t come here- I mean to Revelstone-very often. There wasn’t anybody I could talk to. But I was in the Land. I’m not sure when. I mean when in relation to now. Mostly I think it was a long time ago. But I was here pretty much whenever you put me to bed.
“The only people I could talk to-the only people who knew I was there-were powers like the Elohim and the Ravers. There were a few wizards, something like that. I met some people who called themselves the Insequent. And there was him.” Jeremiah clearly meant Covenant. “He was the best. But even he couldn’t explain very much. He didn’t know how to answer me. Or I didn’t know how to ask the right questions. Mostly we just talked about the way I make things.
“Once in a while, people warned me about the Despiser. Maybe I should have been scared. But I wasn’t. I had no idea what they meant. And I never met him. He stayed away.”
Linden reeled as she listened. Insequent? If she had tried to stand, she would have staggered. Ravers? But she held herself motionless; allowed no flicker of her face or flinch of her muscles to interrupt her son.
He had known Covenant for a long time; perhaps since he had first completed his racetrack construct. -the best.
“But Mom,” Jeremiah added more strongly, “it was so much better than where I was with you. I loved being in the Land. And I loved it when people knew I was there. Even the Ravers. They would have hurt me if they could-but they knew I was there. I don’t remember feeling real before I started coming here.”
She did not realise that tears were spilling from her eyes, or that a knot of grief and joy had closed her throat, until Jeremiah said, “Please don’t cry, Mom. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Now he sounded oddly distant, almost mechanical, as if he were quoting something-or someone. His tic lost some of its fervour; and as the flames in the hearth slowly dwindled, the hectic flush faded from his cheeks. “You said you didn’t understand. I’m just trying to explain.”
For his sake, Linden mastered herself. “Don’t worry about me, honey.” Sitting up straight, she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt. “I cry too easily. It’s embarrassing. I’m just so glad-!” She sniffed helplessly. “And sad too. I’m glad you haven’t been alone all this time, even if you couldn’t talk to me.” When he had crafted Revelstone and Mount Thunder in her living room, he had known exactly what he was doing. “And I’m sad”- she swallowed a surge of empathy and outrage- “because this makes being Foul’s prisoner so much worse. Now there’s nowhere you can be safe.
“I swear to you, honey. I’m never going to stop searching for you. And when I find out where you are, there isn’t anything in this world that’s going to prevent me from rescuing you.”
Jeremiah squirmed in his chair, apparently embarrassed by the passion of her avowal. “You should talk to him about that.” Again he meant Covenant. “He can’t tell you where I am. Lord Foul has me hidden somehow. But he knows everything else. If you just give him a chance-”
Her son’s voice trailed away. His gaze avoided hers.
For a long moment, Linden did not move. In spite of his discomfort, she probed him with every dimension of her senses, trying to see past the barriers which concealed him. Yet her percipience remained useless with him. He was sealed against her.
The ur-Lord has ever been closed to the Haruchai. And his companion is likewise hidden.
All right,” she told Jeremiah finally. “I’ll do that.”
Slapping her palms on her thighs in an effort to shift her attention, she rose to her feet and retrieved the Staff. With its clean wood almost delitescent in her hands, its lenitive powers obscured, she took a few steps across the fading light of the room so that she could confront Covenant directly.
Her detachment was gone; but she had other strengths.
When Covenant dragged his gaze up from his flagon, she began harshly, “You’re the one with all the answers. Start by telling me why you’re doing this. I mean to him.” She indicated Jeremiah. “He hurts worse when he feels it like this,” from the outside. He had said so. “If you really have the answers, you don’t need him. You’re making him suffer for nothing.”
After everything that he had already endured-
“For God’s sake,” she protested, “he’s just a boy. He didn’t choose any of this. Tell me you have a good reason for causing him more pain.”
Covenant’s mien had a drowsy cast in the dying firelight. He seemed to be falling asleep where he sat. In a blurred voice, he replied as if his reasons should have been obvious to her, “I did it so you would trust me.
“I know how this looks to you, Linden. I know I’m not the way you remember me. Too much has happened. And I’m under too much strain-” He lifted his shoulders wearily. “I knew how you would react when you saw how much I’ve changed. So I tried to think of something-I don’t know what to call it-something to demonstrate my good faith.
“I wanted to show you I can give him back. I have that much power. And I know how to do it. If you just trust me.”
“But he-” she objected, trying to find words for her dismay.
“-isn’t any worse off than he was before,” Covenant sighed. Not really. If you think what I’ve done is so terrible, ask him if he regrets being here. Ask him if he regrets anything.”
Before Linden could turn to her son, Jeremiah said, “He’s right, Mom. I don’t regret it, any of it. If he hadn’t brought me with him, I wouldn’t be able to see you. We couldn’t talk. I wouldn’t know you’re trying so hard to rescue me.”
Jeremiah’s response struck her indignation to dust. For at least half of his life, he had given her no direct sign that he was aware of her protective presence-yet now he was willing to endure torments and anguish so that he could speak to her. She had not lavished her love on him in vain.
While she struggled with her emotions, Covenant continued, “I can see what happened to you. That hole in your shirt makes it pretty obvious. And I know you’re worried about him. I can understand that.” He sounded strangely like a man who was trying to convince himself. “Unfortunately I can’t tell you if he was shot. I would if I could. But I wasn’t there. I’m not part of that reality.”
Slowly Linden regained her resolve. She had lost her detachment, and Jeremiah had rendered her protests meaningless. But she was still herself; still able to think and act. And Covenant’s answers disturbed her. They were like a song sung slightly out of tune: instead of soaring, they grated.
She took a moment to turn away and toss another couple of logs onto the fire. She needed better light. Her health-sense was useless: she had to rely on ordinary sight and hearing.
As the new wood began to blaze, she faced the Unbeliever once more. All right,” she said unsteadily. “You can’t tell me if Jeremiah was shot. You can’t tell me where he is. What can you tell me?”
Covenant squinted vaguely at the rising flames. “What do you want to know?”
Linden did not hesitate. “It was Kastenessen who convinced the Demondim to let my friends and me reach Revelstone. You said that you and Jeremiah were able to get here because you tricked them.” I put a crimp in their reality. But how can I be sure that that wasn’t Kastenessen’s doing too?”
Earlier she had believed that Covenant and Jeremiah were being herded rather than pursued.
She expected a flare of anger; but Covenant only peered into his flagon as though its contents meant more to him than her implied accusation. “Because he didn’t know we were coming. He couldn’t. I didn’t start on all this-what we’re doing now-until I knew you were safe.
“When he realised we were on our way here-” Covenant offered her a slack smile. “That made him mad as hell. He was beside himself.” Turning his head, he winked at Jeremiah. “Practically in two places at once.” When Jeremiah grinned, Covenant returned his attention to his flagon. “But you have to remember-He can’t communicate w
ith those damn monsters. The only way he can talk to them is through the old man.” Covenant shrugged. “Since yesterday, that poor lunatic hasn’t been available.”
Abruptly Linden sagged. Hardly aware of what she did, she sank into a chair. Relief left her weak. Deep in her heart, she had been so afraid-Now Covenant had given her a reason to believe in him.
But he was not done. While she tried to gather herself, he said, You might ask why I didn’t make us just appear here.” He sounded dull with drink, sleepy, almost bored. “Riding in ahead of the Demondim was pretty risky. But I wanted a chance to mess with their reality. They can use the damn IIIearth Stone whenever they want. I had to make sure they didn’t attack too soon.
“And I was afraid of you.” He drank again, unsteadily. A little springwine sloshed down his cheeks. “If we took you by surprise-if you didn’t see us coming-you might do something to erase us. I couldn’t take that chance.” He nodded toward Jeremiah. “This isn’t something I could do twice. Kastenessen knows about us now. Hellfire, Linden, Foul himself knows. Neither of them would have any trouble stopping us. Not when I’m stretched this thin.”
By degrees, Linden’s weakness ebbed. At last, something made sense to her. She could follow Covenant’s explanation. Only the imprecise pitch of his voice inhibited her from believing him completely.
Because of his strangeness, she found an unforeseen comfort in the knowledge that he had reason to fear her.
When he was done, she nodded. “All right. I get that. But I had to ask. I’m sure you understand.”
For a moment, Jeremiah turned his grin on her. But Covenant did not reply. Instead he replenished his flagon.
With an effort, she mustered a different question. She had so many-If she did not keep him talking, he might drink himself to sleep.
“So what’s it like?” she asked quietly. “Being part of the Arch of Time?”
“I’m sorry, Linden.” He raised his flagon as if he were driving himself toward unconsciousness. “It’s like Jeremiah’s pain. There aren’t any words for it. It’s too vast, and I’m everywhere at once.
“I feel like I know the One Forest and the Worm of the World’s End and even,” he drawled, “poor ol’ Lord Foul better than I know myself. If you asked me the names of all the Sandgorgons-or what Berek had for breakfast the day he turned against his King-I could probably tell you. If I didn’t have to work so hard just to stay where I am. And,” he concluded, “if I actually cared about things like that.”
Studying him closely-the increasing looseness of his cheeks, the deepening glaze in his eyes, the mounting slur of his speech-Linden said, “Then I’ll try to be more specific. I don’t understand why the caesures haven’t already destroyed everything.
“Joan’s using wild magic. And she’s out of her mind, you know that. God, Covenant, it seems to me that just one Fall ought to be enough to undo the whole world. But she’s made dozens of them by now. Or hundreds.” Ever since Linden had restored her wedding band. “How can the Arch survive that? How can you? Why hasn’t everybody and everything that’s ever existed already been sucked away?”
Surely Anele, a handful of ur-viles, and Kevin’s Watch were not the only victims of Joan’s agony?
Covenant lifted his unmaimed hand and peered at it; extended his fingers as though he meant to enumerate a list of reasons. But then he appeared to forget what he was doing, or to lose interest in it. Returning his hand to his lap and the handle of his flagon, he answered dully, “Because the Law of Time is still fighting to protect itself. Because I’m still fighting to protect it. And because caesures have limits. They wouldn’t be so easy to make if the Laws of Death and Life hadn’t been damaged. Before that, everything was intact. So there’s a kind of barrier in the Land’s past. It restricts how far back the caesures tend to go.
“Joan’s too far gone to know what she’s doing. She can’t sustain anything. So most of her caesures don’t last very long. If they aren’t kept going by some other power-like the Demondim-they fade pretty quickly. And they don’t usually reach as far back as the Sunbane. That gives the Law of Time a chance to reassert itself. It gives me room to work.”
Covenant’s air of drowsiness grew as he continued, “Plus her caesures are localised. They only cover a certain amount of ground, and they move around. She’s too crazy to make them do anything else. Wherever they are at a particular moment, every bit of time in that precise spot happens at once. For the last three millennia, anyway. But since they’re moving, they give those bits of time back as fast as they pick up new ones.”
Abruptly his head dropped, and Linden feared for a moment that he had fallen asleep. But then he seemed to rally. His head jerked up. He widened his eyes to the firelight; blinked them several times; stared at her owlishly.
“But the real reason,” he continued, “is what the Lords called ‘the necessity of freedom.”‘ For some reason, he sounded bitter. “Wild magic is only as powerful as the will, the determination, of the person it belongs to. The rightful white gold wielder.
“In the wrong hands, it’s still pretty strong. Which is why you can create Falls with it”- the statement was a sneer- “and why Foul was able to kill me. But it doesn’t really come alive until the person it belongs to chooses to use it. Foul might not even have been able to kill me if I hadn’t given him my ring voluntarily. And I did not choose to destroy the Arch.” Covenant’s tone suggested that now he wondered why he had bothered to choose at all. “Since he wasn’t the rightful wielder, the power he unleashed only made me stronger.
“Well,” he snorted, “Joan is the rightful wielder of her ring. But she isn’t choosing anything. All she’s really trying to do is scream. Turiya has her. He feeds her pain. But that only aggravates her craziness. He can’t make her choose because she’s already lost. Oh, he could force her to hand her ring to someone else. But it wouldn’t be her choice. And the ring wouldn’t belong to whoever got it.”
Covenant drank again, and his manner resumed its drift toward somnolence. For what Foul really wants, Joan and her ring are pretty much useless. They’re just a gambit. A ploy. The danger is real enough, but it won’t set him free. Or help him accomplish any of his other goals. He’s counting on you for that. It’s all about manipulating you so you’ll serve him.”
The idea made Linden wince. His other goals-Through Anele, the Despiser had suggested that he did not merely wish to escape the Arch of Time. There is more, he had said, but of my deeper purpose I will not speak.
“Serve him how?” Fear which she could not suppress undermined her voice.
“You’ll have to ask him,” Covenant said through a yawn. “He hides from me in all kinds of ways. I can’t tell where he’s keeping Jeremiah, or where he is himself, or what he thinks you’re going to do. All I know for sure is, the danger’s real. And I can stop it.”
In spite of her concern, Linden recognised her cue: she was supposed to ask him how. He had blamed her for everything that had happened since she had formed her Staff. Now he would offer to ease her guilt and responsibility.
She assumed that he wanted his ring. How else could he possibly intervene in the Despiser’s designs? Surely he needed his instrument of power? It belonged to him.
Like Joan, he could not exert wild magic without his ring.
With it a master may form perfect works and fear nothing.
But she was not ready for that. Not yet. She could not rid herself of the sensation that he was speaking off key; that his attitude or his drinking obliquely falsified whatever he said. And the fact that he had not already asked for his ring-or demanded it-troubled her. So far, he had given her explanations which made sense. Nevertheless, instinctively, she suspected him of misdirection. In spite of her relief, her apprehension was growing.
Instead of following his lead, she said, “Wait a minute. You’re getting ahead of me. I think I understand why the caesures haven’t destroyed everything. But are you also saying that they won’t? That they can’t bre
ak the Arch?”
Covenant’s head lolled toward Jeremiah. “I told you she was going to do this,” he remarked. “Didn’t I tell you she was going to do this?”
Jeremiah grinned at him. “That’s my Mom.”
Nodding, the Unbeliever faced Linden again. “You’re just like I remember you. You never let anything go.”
He spread his hands as if to show her that he was helpless. “Oh, eventually they’ll destroy everything. You’ve been through two of them now. You know what they’re like. Part of what they do is take you inside the mind of whoever created them. You’ve been in Joan’s mind. You should ask that callow puppy who follows you around what it’s like being in your mind.”
Before she could react to his sarcasm, he added, “Another part, the part that feels like hornets burrowing into your skin, is time itself. It’s all those broken moments being stirred together.
“And another part-the part that’s just freezing cold emptiness forever-” Covenant made a visible effort to appear earnest. “Linden, that’s the future. The eventual outcome of Joan’s craziness. Even that probably won’t bring down the Arch. But there won’t be anything left inside it. No Land, no Earth, no beings of any kind, no past or present or future. No life. Just freezing cold emptiness that can’t escape to consume eternity because it’s still being contained.”
Involuntarily Linden shivered. She remembered too well the featureless wasteland within the Falls, gelid and infinitely unrelieved. She herself had created an instance of that future-and she could not claim the excuse that she had not known what she was doing.
“All right,” she acceded. “I think I understand.” Instead of probing him further, she gave him the question that he had tried to prompt from her. “But how can you stop any of this? You said that you know what to do. What do you mean?”
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