“There came a time, however, when we were no longer content. Ourselves we knew too well, speaking mind to mind. We desired to measure our worth against other peoples in less arduous climes, for we conceived that the rigors of the mountains had made us great. Therefore twenty-five score Haruchai journeyed together westward, seeking some race whom we might best in battle.”
Stave’s tone took on a defended formality as he explained, “Understand, Chosen, that we did not crave dominion. We sought only to express the heat of our pride.”
Peripherally Linden was aware that the Humbled had turned away as if to disavow Stave’s tale-or his telling of it. Galt, Clyme, and Branl withdrew to the edges of the light, standing guard. But she paid no real attention to them. She was immersed in the sound of Stave’s voice.
He spoke of we as though he had been one of those five hundred Haruchai thousands of years ago.
This, she knew, was an effect of their mental communion. They had shared their thoughts and passions and memories so completely, and for so long, that each of them embodied the long history of their race. Stave remembered his distant ancestors as if he had been present with them.
“After a trek of many days,” he said, “we at last left behind our high peaks and biting snows, and found a fertile lowland lush with crops and waters, a region in which we deemed that even a slothful and unstriving people would flourish. For a time, we encountered none of the region’s inhabitants. At last, however, we came upon a lone but with a single occupant.
“The hut was a rude structure of wattle and thatch, and the man who emerged from it was clad in rags which scarcely covered his limbs. Furthermore both his flesh and his hair were clotted with filth, for he seemed unconscious of his person.
“Yet he addressed us courteously, offering both shelter and sustenance, though we were twenty-five score and his but was small. In response, we declined, also courteously. Then he inquired, still courteously, of our purpose in the land of the Insequent. Intending no offense to one who plainly could not oppose us, we replied that we knew nothing of the Insequent, but that we had come in search of combat, seeking confirmation that our prowess knew no equal.”
The effect of what she heard on Linden was both immediate and detached. She seemed to experience Stave’s tale through a veil of imposed dispassion. She saw everything that he described, but it did not touch her. Her sensitivity to the Mahdoubt’s sinking vitality muffled her reactions.
“Hearing us,” Stave went on, “the man became haughty. He informed us that the Insequent were far too mighty and glorious to heed such trivialities. Sneering, he proclaimed that if we did not immediately depart, he would punish our arrogance with his own hands, driving us defeated back to our mountains.
“We had no wish to harm him, for he appeared frail to us, beneath our strength. Yet we were also loath to turn aside from any challenge. Therefore one among us, Zaynor, whom we deemed the least of our company, stepped forward. He inquired if the Insequent would consent to display his skill for our edification.
“The man laughed scornfully. To our sight, he became briefly indistinct. Then Zaynor lay senseless at his feet. Upon Zaynor’s face and limbs were the marks of many blows.”
While Stave spoke, the fire continued to shrink, contracting its light until the Mahdoubt clung in gloom to Linden’s and Stave’s support, and only coals reflected like memories in the former Master’s gaze.
“Though we vaunted ourselves for our readiness in all things, we were surprised. Yet we were not daunted, for we conceived that the lone man’s prowess lay in supernal swiftness, and we believed ourselves able to counter it, having been forewarned. Three of our number advanced to request a second demonstration of the man’s worth.
“His response was mockery. Rather than suffer the continued affront of our presence, he avowed that he would defeat all of us together, thereby teaching us a condign humility.”
Stave paused as though he had to search for words. When he resumed, his tone suggested a remembered disbelief.
“Chosen, we were twenty-five score, and we credited our might. We did not scoff in reply, for we consider scorn the refuge of the weak. Also our opponent appeared to be a madman. Yet he had felled Zaynor. For that reason, we contemplated the means by which a supernal swiftness may be defeated, and we stood prepared.
“Nevertheless he passed among us as wheat is scythed. Before the last of us recognised astonishment, twenty-five score Haruchai lay unconscious upon the ground, all pummelled insensate during the space of perhaps three heartbeats.”
The Mahdoubt sighed in sadness or disapproval, but she did not interrupt. Linden wanted to protest, Wait a minute. All of you? Five hundred-? If anyone else had told her this, she would not have believed it. However, she swallowed her shock for the Mahdoubt’s sake as much as for Stave’s.
Inflexibly he said. When we began to regain our wits and rise from the ground, the man stood before us still, showing no sign of exertion. Only our battered flesh, and the blood of many blows upon his hands and feet, verified that he had struck us down bodily rather than causing us to slumber by theurgy.
“Then we conceived that we had been humbled. Therefore we made obeisance, declaring our opponent ak-Haru, the greatest warrior known to the Haruchai. But his reply taught us that we had not yet discovered humility within ourselves.”
Ak-Haru? Linden thought in sudden recognition. Stave had reached the cusp of his story, the point on which everything else turned. She wanted to interrupt him with questions simply so that she would have time to brace herself for what was coming. Only her concern for the Mahdoubt restrained her.
“Courteous once more, he bowed, saying that he had foreseen neither doughtiness nor fair speech from such small folk. Then he informed us that among the Insequent he was known as the Vizard.”
Linden swore inwardly at that name; but she forced herself to remain silent.
“The Insequent, he explained, did not reveal their true names. Rather they claimed obscure and gratifying titles for their own amusement. Yet he bid us welcome, both to his dwelling and to the land of the Insequent, cautioning us only that to every man or woman of his kind we must make obeisance. The Insequent-so he averred-wielded skills as diverse as their numbers, and few shared his indulgent nature.
“Lastly he proclaimed in a manner which forbade contradiction that he was unworthy to be named ak-Haru, for he was not the greatest of his people. There we found that humility had a deeper meaning than we had recognised. The Vizard did not merely refuse the honour which we ceded to him. He named the Theomach as the only Insequent who would be deemed deserving by his own kind.”
Linden stared at Stave through the encroaching night, shaken in ways which she could not have articulated. Briefly she forgot the Mahdoubt’s plight. Roger had made cryptic comments about the Theomach’s role in the Land’s history. And the Theomach had assured her that she knew his true name
Stave faced her like a man who had determined to spare himself nothing. It was the Vizard’s word that the Theomach had joined himself to a great Lord in a land beyond our mountains to the east. In the Lord’s company, he had quested far across the Earth, risking Nicor and the Soulbiter and many other perils to discover the hiding place of the One Tree. That alone, said the Vizard, was knowledge of surpassing difficulty, deserving accolade. The One Tree may be found only by those who do not seek the thing they seek, yet the Theomach resolved the conundrum by seeking the One Tree on the Lord’s behalf rather than his own. For himself, he desired not the One Tree, but rather its Guardian.
“Therein lay his greatest feat. In single combat, he defeated the hated Elohim who stood as the Tree’s Appointed Guardian. Thus the Theomach became the Guardian in the Elohim’s stead. Alone among the Insequent-so said the Vizard-the Theomach passed beyond self and craving to join the rare company of those who do not heed death. And therefore the Vizard did not scruple to reveal the Theomach’s true name, for he could no longer be harmed by it.”
“Kenaustin Ardenol,
” Linden breathed. “Oh, my God.”
She had known the Theomach’s true name for ten years. But she could not have recognised it until now.
He had become more than Berek Halfhand’s companion and teacher: far more.
She heard hints of mourning in Stave’s voice as he said. To the Vizard, we granted that we would name the Guardian of the One Tree ak-Haru. But we could not further swallow our crippled pride. That we had been bested by a single opponent who then refused our acknowledgment did not teach us humility. It taught us humiliation.”
The Mahdoubt raised her head, although the effort made her shudder. “Such was the Vizard’s intent.” Anger throbbed in her voice. “Assuredly. His peculiar greed ruled him, and no word or ploy of his was kindly. Even his courtesy was scorn. Had he lived to achieve his purpose, he would have undone the entire race of the Elohim to sate his hungers.”
Stave nodded. The night made him appear carved in stone.
“Being humiliated, we did not accept the welcome of the Vizard. Nor did we sojourn among the Insequent. Rather we returned in pain to our snow-clad peaks. When at a later time, we again elected to measure our worth, we did so in pain. In pain, we turned our trek to the east, for that was the direction named by the Vizard. In pain, we challenged High Lord Kevin Landwaster and all of his great Council. And when our challenge was met, not with combat, but with open-hearted respect and generosity, our pain was multiplied, for we were accorded a worth which we had not won. Therefore we swore the Vow of the Bloodguard, setting aside homes and wives and sleep and death that we might once again merit our own esteem.”
Now Linden could not remain silent. Impelled by her own ire, she said unsteadily, “It’s also why you abandoned your Vow.” She was learning to understand what the Vizard’s whims had cost Stave’s people. “When Korik, Sill, and Doar failed, you decided that you didn’t deserve to help the Lords fight Lord Foul.”
Again Stave nodded; but she did not stop. Her indignation rose into the night as if it were directed at every Haruchai who had ever lived, although it was not. For Stave’s people, she felt only a sorrow which she could not afford.
“And it’s why you never actually got together to fight the Clave, even though your people were being slaughtered,” shed to feed the Sunbane. “Even after Covenant saved you, only a few of you joined us. You knew that we were going to search for the One Tree, and you didn’t consider yourselves worthy to face your ak-Haru. You couldn’t commit yourselves to defend the Land until Brinn proved that he could take the Guardian’s place. Until he became the ak-Haru himself.
“That’s when you finally started to believe in yourselves again.”
The Masters had carried their perception of worth too far. Now she knew why. After millennia of loss, they had regained their self-respect, but they had never learned how to grieve. Liand was right about them. They could only find healing in the attempt to match Brinn’s example. Their humiliation had made them too rigid for any other release.
“So of course,” Linden continued. “the Humbled attacked the Harrow before he did anything to threaten us. They had to. He’s one of the Insequent. That’s all the provocation they needed.”
“Indeed.” Stave stood in darkness, as unrevealing as the stars. “Aspiring to Brinn’s triumph, they now desire to prove themselves against any of the Insequent. For that reason, among others, I did not wish to speak of the Mahdoubt, or of the stranger, until we were certain of their nature.”
“But you didn’t tell anyone about all this?” That, too, might have healed them. If nothing else, it might have eased their loneliness. “Anyone at all? Didn’t you think that someone might need to know your story?”
Her protest was addressed to the Mahdoubt as well.
The Humbled had moved closer, following the light as it shrank and faltered. They stood around Linden, Stave, and the Mahdoubt like sentinels or accusers, stiff with wariness or reproach.
“Until this moment,” Stave acknowledged, “no Haruchai has spoken of these matters aloud, saving only Brinn during your approach to the One Tree. In the time of the Lords, the Bloodguard would have answered if any Lord or Giant had inquired. But none knew of the Insequent. There were no queries. Even in the approach to the One Tree, neither you nor the Unbeliever nor any Giant questioned Brinn and Cail concerning ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol, though you were informed that our knowledge was older than the time of the Bloodguard.
“As you have confirmed, Berek Halfhand knew of the Theomach, as did Damelon Giantfriend. Yet that tale was transformed at its birth. It was told to suit the Theomach’s purpose. This also you have confirmed. No mention was made of the Insequent in Berek Heartthew’s presence, or in his son’s. Rather the first Halfhand’s thoughts were guided along other paths.
“Nor have we deemed it needful to reveal our ancient shame. Though it remains fresh from generation to generation among us, the Insequent played no part in the stratagems of Corruption or the perils of the Land. We could not state with certainty that the Vizard’s kind had not ceased to exist. Why then should we speak of our humiliation?”
Little more than embers remained in Stave’s eye as he said to Linden. “Perhaps now you will grasp the import of Brinn’s victory over the Guardian of the One Tree. It inspired the Haruchai to believe themselves equal to the Mastery of the Land, for it redeemed us to ourselves.”
Linden grasped too much: she could not absorb it all. The acquiescence of the Humbled when the Mahdoubt had contradicted their wishes made sense to her now. But she did not know why the Mahdoubt had insisted on Stave’s tale. How was it needful, except as a farewell?
When Stave was done, the Insequent seemed to call up old reserves of fortitude or determination. Straightening her shoulders arduously, she raised her chin to the advancing night.
“Accept the Mahdoubt’s thanks,” she said to Stave, quavering. “She desires to end her days with kindness. On her behalf, you have granted my lady a precious boon.”
In an instant, the woman’s utter frailty snatched away Linden’s other concerns. “My friend,” she murmured, bending close to the Mahdoubt. “Please. Isn’t there anything I can do? I’ve been trained to heal people. And I have the Staff of Law, for God’s sake. Surely I can-?”
“My lady, no.” The old woman sounded sure in spite of her weakness. “The Mahdoubt’s knowledge does not partake of Law. It has preserved her far beyond her mortality. Assuredly. Now her end cannot be undone.
“Her last boon,” she went on before Linden could protest, “is meant as solace. It is her wish to lessen your fears and sorrows. She desires you to be assured that you may trust this spurned Master. He has named his pain. By it he may be invoked.”
Stave lifted his eyebrow, but did not respond.
Damn it! Linden tried to protest. I know I can trust him. You don’t have to do this. But her grief remained trapped in her chest. She did not have the heart to plead, Please don’t leave me.
Instead she said, “Thank you.” She was able to summon that much grace. “You’ve been my friend in more ways than I can count. I can’t honestly say that I understand you, but I know your kindness. And you’ve saved me-” For a moment, her throat closed. “If I ever manage to do something good,” by evil means or otherwise. “it will be because you believed in me.”
The Mahdoubt lowered her head. “Then Quern Ehstrel is content.”
There Linden nearly lost the clenched wrath that defended her. Trembling with imminent bereavement, she whispered, “Now please. Let me at least try to stop what’s happening to you. There are a lot of things that I can do, if you’ll let me.” Stave and Anele had refused her healing. They had that right. “I might find something-”
“Forbear, my lady.” The Insequent’s voice held a desperate severity. “Permit to the Mahdoubt the dignity of departure.”
“I know your true name,” countered Linden hoarsely. “Can’t I compel you?”
The woman nodded. “Assuredly. The Mahdoubt begs that you do not.”<
br />
With a tremulous effort, she detached one arm from Stave’s support. Tears blurred the discrepancy of her eyes, urging Linden to release her.
When Linden let go at last, the Mahdoubt turned slowly from the dying embers of the campfire and began to walk away, tottering into the night. The Humbled bowed as they watched her pass. And Stave also bowed, according her the stern respect of the Haruchai.
Linden could not match their example. Instead she hugged her Staff and bore witness.
As the Mahdoubt reached the failing edge of the light, she tried to chant. “A simple charm will master time.” But her voice broke after a few words; shattered into giggling. And with every step, she lost substance, macerated by darkness. Dissolving from sight, she left a mad mirth behind her, laughter pinched with hysteria.
But Linden closed her heart to the sound. As if in defiance, she concentrated instead on the salvific unction of the verses which had retrieved her from the Land’s past.
The silent mind does not protest
The ending of its days, or go
To grief in loss and futile pain,
But rather knows the healing gain
Of time’s eternity at rest.
The cause of sequence makes it so.
No, she thought. I do not forgive. I will not.
She knew no other way to say goodbye.
Chapter Five: Departure from Revelstone
The walk back to Lord’s Keep seemed unnaturally long to Linden. She had gone farther from herself than she realised. Neither Stave nor the escorting Humbled spoke: she did not speak herself. The night was mute except for the sound of her boots on the hard ground. Yet the Mahdoubt’s broken giggling seemed to follow every step. In retrospect, Linden felt that she had wasted her friend’s life.
Behind her, the Harrow’s campfire died at last. And the lamps and torches in Revelstone had been extinguished. The Masters may have been reluctant to proclaim the fact that the Keep’s gates remained open. Only the cold stars and the moon remained to light her way; but now she found no comfort in them.
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