Fatal Revenant t3cotc-2

by Stephen R. Donaldson

Her voice wore a penumbra of bells as she said, “The Insequent speaks sooth, Wildwielder.” Around her, night thickened over the Hills and the Soulsease as if her appearance absorbed the last of the light. “No powers will contend in sacred Andelain. Conscious of his littleness, and embittered, he faults us for arrogance and self-worship. Yet he declines to acknowledge that the quality which he deplores, the certainty that we are equal to all things, preserves his petty machinations as well as his life. Our unconcern spares smaller beings. Were we less than we are, we would have taken umbrage in an earlier age and extinguished the Insequent for their meddlesomeness.”

  You vaunt yourself without cause, Elohim,” retorted the Harrow. “Was not your Appointed Guardian of the One Tree defeated by the Theomach?”

  “He was,” admitted Infelice in a tone that conceded nothing. “And in his turn, the Theomach was defeated. Though he strove to affect the Wurd of the Earth, he fell before one mere Haruchai. Thus our present peril is in part attributable to the Insequent. Had the Theomach refrained from aggrandisement, much which now threatens the Earth would not have occurred, and I would not have come to counter your gluttony.”

  The Harrow laughed, mocking Infelice as he had mocked Linden. “You are clever, Elohim. You speak truth to conceal truth. Did you not also come to prevent the lady?”

  Infelice did not waver. “I did.” Nevertheless expressions molted across her face, ire and grief and alarm commingled with a look that resembled self-pity. “If the Wildwielder will heed me.”

  Their exchange gave Linden time to rally herself; step back from the brink of consternation. She did not trust the Harrow: she knew the intensity of his greed. And she was painfully, intimately familiar with the surquedry and secrets of the Elohim: she could not believe that Infelice wished her-or Jeremiah-well. As a people, the Elohim cared only for themselves.

  The Theomach had enabled Berek Halfhand to fashion the first Staff of Law. He had made himself the Guardian of the One Tree. Then his stewardship had become Brinn’s. But Linden did not understand how such things contributed to Lord Foul’s designs.

  “No,” she said before the Harrow spoke again. “You can talk around me as if I’m not here some other time. Tonight is mine.

  “Stave. Mahrtiir. Coldspray.” Deliberately she turned away from Infelice. “We’re going. I need the krill.” And the Dead. “If Infelice and the Harrow want to come with us, I don’t mind. They can answer a few questions along the way.”

  The Harrow laughed. A flare of anger burned in Infelice’s eyes. Almost immediately, however, he cut short his scorn, and she quelled her indignation.

  Out of the new dark, Wraiths came skirling like music, the song of pipes and flutes. Dancing and bobbing, they appeared as if in response to Linden’s declaration, more and more of them at every moment: first a small handful, then a dozen, then one and two and three score. And as they lit themselves from their impalpable arcane wicks, they joined together in two rows to form an aisle leading southward.

  Involuntarily Linden gasped. The Giants exclaimed their astonishment. “Linden,” Liand breathed, unable to contain himself. “Heaven and Earth. Linden.” The Ramen stared as if the Cords and their eyeless Manethrall were bedazzled.

  “Sunder my father,” Anele panted between his teeth. “Hollian my mother. Preserve your son.” A tumult of distress ran through his voice. “Preserve me. Anele is lost. Without your forgiveness, he is damned.”

  The Wraiths had come-

  — to welcome Linden. For reasons which she could not fathom, they meant to escort her like an honour guard to Loric’s krill.

  Their presence filled her with hope as if they had opened her heart.

  Unable to speak, she urged Hyn into motion. With a stately step and an arched neck, the mare entered the avenue of Wraiths as though she had accepted an obeisance.

  Quickly the Swordmainnir arrayed themselves around Linden and Hyn. Prompted by an instinctive reverence, they drew their swords and stretched out their arms, pointing their blades at the first faint stars. A moment later, Stave guided Liand, Anele, and the Ramen into formation behind Linden. None of the Humbled went ahead of her. Instead they rode down the aisle at the rear of the company as if to distance themselves from her intentions.

  Without hesitation, the Harrow joined Linden; but he did not presume to precede her. Instead he rode his destrier beside one of the Giants. After an instant of outrage and chagrin, Infelice came to accompany Linden between the Wraiths. She, too, did not take the lead, but chose rather to float opposite the Harrow, placing her light in contrast with his darkness.

  — hope in contradiction. Although they shared a wish to preserve the Arch of Time, the Insequent and the Elohim seemed to cancel each other.

  Along a path defined by flames and implied melody, the riders, the Giants, and Infelice crossed a rounded hill and moved into a lea swept with night. Gradually stars began to peek out of the heavens, glittering dispassionately as the final remnants of daylight frayed and faded.

  Old elms dotted the lea. Amid trees and Wraiths, the Harrow remarked quietly. In an ancient age, this night would have been Banas Nimoram, the Celebration of Spring. We might perchance have witnessed the Dance of the Wraiths of Andelain.” Every hint of mockery had fled from his deep voice. “Millennia have passed since they last enacted their rite of gladness. Yet they remain to signify the import of our deeds and needs. Did I not say, lady, that here you would find delight and surprise?” After a pause, he added. “No other Insequent has beheld such a sight.”

  Linden made no reply. The voiceless entrancement of the living fires held her. Doubtless the Haruchai and the Ramen had memories or tales of Banas Nimoram: she did not. Yet she understood that every swirl and glow and note of the Wraiths accentuated the meaning of her presence.

  Then, however, Infelice said in a tone of careful severity, “Wildwielder, we must speak of your purpose here.”

  With an effort, Linden set aside her hushed awe. She needed to ready herself for what she meant to attempt. More to occupy her conscious mind than to resolve any lingering uncertainty, she countered by asking. “Did you really come all of this way just to stop the Harrow from taking me to my son?”

  The Elohim made their home far to the east beyond the Sunbirth Sea. Infelice had crossed many hundred of leagues, leaving behind the rapt self-contemplation of her people.

  “In part,” she admitted with a faint suggestion of disdain or revulsion. “But I will not speak of the Harrow, or of his unscrupling greed, or of your son. We must address your intent.”

  Linden refused to be distracted. “I would rather talk about meddling.” The Elohim had Appointed Findail and Kastenessen: they had sealed Covenant’s mind and tried to imprison Vain. They had sent one of their number to the aid of the One Forest, and another to warn the Land. “Even though you’re “equal to all things”, the heart of the Earth. “you sometimes take matters into your own hands. You’re here to block the Harrow. You want to interfere with me. So tell me something.

  “According to the Theomach, if he hadn’t disrupted Roger’s plans to destroy the Arch, you would have intervened. Is that true?”

  Haughtiness and pleading bled together in Infelice. “It is. Much of the Despiser’s evil does not concern us. His ends are an abomination, but often his means are too paltry to merit our notice. When he strives to unmake Time, however, our existence is imperilled. This alone we share with the Insequent. We do not desire the destruction of the Earth.”

  Softly, as if in the distance, the Harrow began to sing. His low voice followed the inferred tune of the Wraiths as if he had deciphered their minuet.

  “The ending of all things is nigh.

  Both grief and rue will pass away,

  Both love and gratefulness; and why?

  No one will stand to offer, “Nay.”

  “This chosen plight is chosen doom,

  A path unwisely, bravely found

  Which leads us to a lonely tomb,

  A sepulchr
e of ruined ground.

  “Some fool or seer has made it so:

  That life and lore give way to dross

  And so preclude our wail of woe.

  No heart remains to feel the loss.

  “And so this way the world ends,

  In failure and mistaken faith.

  We dream that we will make amends,

  Yet ev’ry hope is but a Wraith,

  “A touch of soon extinguished flame,

  A residue of ash and dust.

  We ache to save our use and name,

  And yet we die because we must.”

  He seemed to be smiling as he sang.

  But Linden did not heed him. “Then is it also true,” she continued stubbornly, probing the Elohim. “that the Insequent are the “shadow” on your hearts?”

  Other Elohim had referred to a shadow upon the heart of the Earth. It justified their distress that Linden did not wield Covenant’s ring, their betrayal of Covenant, and their efforts to neutralise Vain.

  Divergent emotions chased each other across lnfelice’s lambent features. “Wildwielder, the Insequent are filled to bursting with boasts. They vaunt their might and efficacy. Yet among them, only the Theomach has achieved an effect upon the fate of the Earth. Thoughts of them do not darken our absorption.”

  “Then,” Linden insisted. “what is it? What is the “shadow”?

  All who live contain some darkness, and much lies hidden there. But in us it has not been a matter of exigency-for are we not equal to all things?

  Infelice sighed; but she did not decline to answer. Apparently her desire to sway Linden compelled her.

  For a time which you would measure in eons, it remained nameless among us. Later, we considered that perhaps it was cast by the Despiser’s malevolence. But then we grew to understand that it was the threat of beings from beyond Time, beings such as yourself and also the Timewarden-beings both small and mortal who are nonetheless capable of utter devastation.

  “By his own deeds, the Despiser cannot destroy the Arch of Time. He requires the connivance of such men and women as the Timewarden’s son and mate. He requires your aid, Wildwielder, and that of the man who was once the Unbeliever.”

  Linden winced; but she did not relent. Is that why you wanted me to have Covenant’s ring? Is that how you justify closing his mind?”

  It is,” assented Infelice. “Had wild magic been yours to wield in millennia past, you would have posed no hazard to the Arch of Time. The Unbeliever’s white gold would have answered your need. But his ring was not yours. Constrained by incomplete mastery, you could not have summoned utter havoc. Yet you were the Sun-Sage, empowered with percipience to wield wild magic precisely. Had you rather than the Unbeliever confronted the Despiser then, his defeat would not have been what it was, both partial and ambiguous. The Earth would have been preserved-and you would not now aim to achieve the ruin for which the Despiser has long hungered.”

  Achieve the ruin-

  Linden refused listen. She could not heed the Elohim: not now. Instead she concentrated on more immediate details. The dampness of her jeans. The water in her boots. The strict and comforting sensation of the Staff in her hand. Aflame, the Wraiths wove her way among the copses and greenswards. On her behalf, they held back every darkness. Their fires were too little to dim the thronging stars; but still the Wraiths gave a processional dignity to the night.

  And so this way the world ends-

  Everyone except Linden’s friends expected calamities. And even they were not impervious to doubt. The Giants had expressed their concern. Earlier Stave had asked her to consider turning aside. Days ago, Liand had admitted, It is possible that your loves will bind your heart to destruction- The Theomach himself had warned her. If you err in this, your losses will be greater than you are able to conceive.

  Now, however, Linden felt no reaction from her companions. Apart from the Harrow, they walked or rode in stillness. As far as she could tell, they were ensorcelled by the Wraiths and heard nothing. Infelice was certainly capable of making her voice, and Linden’s, inaudible to others. By his own means, the Theomach had performed a similar feat in Berek’s camp.

  Speaking of Linden’s capacity for darkness, Liand had also said, I am not afraid.

  When she had steadied herself, she realised that lnfelice’s pronouncements made her stronger. Opposition confirmed her choices. The fact that she inspired fear in beings like Roger and Kastenessen, Esmer and Infelice, demonstrated that she was on the right path.

  “You Elohim amaze me,” she remarked almost casually. “You always have. After all of this time, you still don’t realise that you’re wrong.

  “I’m not like Covenant. I never was. If he hadn’t beaten Lord Foul, I would have broken.” She lacked his capacity for miracles. “Lord Foul would have won, and none of us would be here to discuss whether Covenant and I did the right thing.”

  “No, Wildwielder,” insisted Infelice with a flush of heat and pleading. “We are not in error. Your thoughts are inadequate to comprehend ours. It was not for the Despiser’s defeat that we sought to impose the burden of wild magic upon you. Had you indeed “broken”, as you believe, both the Land and the Earth would have suffered great harm. That is sooth. But Time would have endured. Deprived of its rightful wielder, white gold is not puissant to destroy the Arch.

  “Also there would now exist no Staff of Law. Its benisons are many. Nonetheless it constrains the Timewarden. By wild magic, he came into being-and by your deeds, he was made weak.”

  If you hadn’t taken my ring and made that Staff, l would have been able to fix everything-

  “And we are the Elohim,” Infelice continued, “equal to all things. Across the centuries, we would have healed much. Perhaps the Despiser’s blight upon the Land would have remained, but the Earth we would have preserved and restored.”

  With a strange calm exasperation as unexpected and luminous as her passage through Andelain, Linden asked. “Then what was it all for? If you didn’t care about the outcome-or the Land-why did you try so hard to force me to take Covenant’s place?’

  To himself, the Harrow chuckled scornfully.

  Guided by Wraiths like candle flames, Linden rode under a broad Gilden and crossed the lip of a shallow vale-and saw her goal. It had always been there. Esmer had told her so: Stave and the Masters knew its location. Nevertheless it seemed to come into existence suddenly, as if it had manifested itself in response to her need. Between instants, the night was cast back, and silver fire shone from the bottom of the vale.

  Dancing, the Wraiths moved ahead of her down the gentle slope and spread out to encircle the krill of High Lord Loric, son of Damelon, father of Kevin. There they bobbed and grew brighter, apparently bowing-and feeding, drawing sustenance from the blade’s incandescence.

  Here was the source of their power to preserve Andelain. The krill was powerful in itself, able to cut stone without being dulled, and to sever the lives of eldritch creatures like the Viles and the Demondim. But its greatest strength-the chief accomplishment of Loric’s lore-was as a channel for other magicks. Made active by the mere presence, quiescent and extravagant, of white gold, the blade protected the Hills. Yet Linden had seen it accomplish more. With the krill, Sunder had slain Caer-Caveral, although Sunder was no more than a grieved Stonedownor, and Caer-Caveral was the last Forestal, powerful enough to preserve Andelain against the Sunbane. And in the release of Caer-Caveral’s music, the krill had enabled Sunder’s yearning to tear apart the fabric of Law so that Hollian lived again.

  Loric’s weapon was a two-edged dagger almost as long as a short sword. At the intersection of its blade, its straight guards, and its ribbed hilt, it had been forged around a clear gem, mystic and immaculate: the focal point of its power. There the gem blazed with condensed argent like contained wild magic, at once potent and controlled; ready for any use.

  It remained exactly as Linden remembered it: a cynosure of vindication and loss deeply embedded in the black, blaste
d stump of a ruined tree which had once been Caer-Caveral and Hile Troy.

  Goaded by memories and exigency, a purpose as desperate as the last Forestal’s, she urged Hyn into a swift canter. Graceful as water, Hyn carried Linden through the acknowledgment of the Wraiths toward the bottom of the vale; toward dead wood and shining and culmination.

  Behind her, Infelice called urgently, “It was for this! To avert this present moment.” Dread and supplication squirmed through her voice. “Broken or triumphant in the past, you would not have returned to the Land. You would not now hold white gold and the Staff of Law. Nor would you approach Loric’s krill in Andelain accompanied by Wraiths. You would not be driven by mistaken love to bring about the end of all things!”

  Linden wanted to laugh like the Harrow. As she swept closer to her destination, she answered in derision. “Does it bother you at all that you’re completely insane?”

  Then Hyn led Linden’s companions into the expanding circle of the Wraiths. There Linden dismounted. With the opulent grass of the Hills beneath her sodden boots and stained pants, she hugged the Staff of Law to her chest. It was here: Loric’s krill was here. — that which will enable her to bear her strengths- And Covenant’s ring hung under her shirt. Jeremiah’s racecar rested in her pocket. She had gained everything that she required-except the Dead.

  The krill had been driven deeply into the wood: she was not sure that she could remove it. And she remembered its heat. She was not Covenant, the rightful white gold wielder, numb with leprosy: if she touched the dagger with her bare skin, it might burn her. Instead she stood before it as though it were the altar of Caer-Caveral’s sacrifice.

  Liand and the rest of her friends arrived after her. Only Stave and the Humbled dropped to the ground: the other riders remained aback their Ranyhyn as if they were caught in dreams, bespelled by the Wraiths. Even the Giants appeared to wander entranced, lost in mysteries. Coldspray and perhaps Grueburn seemed to struggle against their amazement, but their comrades gazed upon the circling of the Wraiths and did not awaken.

  Like Liand, Anele, and the Ramen, the Harrow remained mounted at a distance from Linden and the krill. The bottomless holes of his eyes considered the fiery gem hungrily.