Linden thanked him quietly, and released him.
“That’s bad enough,” she said to Stave. “The rest of us aren’t Haruchai. And we don’t have Anele’s Earthpower. We’re”- she shuddered- “vulnerable.
“But it’s not the only problem. I don’t know if you realise that I failed. In the caesure. I almost let us all- ” Her own memories nearly choked her. “I couldn’t use Covenant’s ring. I was in too much pain.
“We’re only here because the ur-viles saved us. The ur-viles and the Ranyhyn.” And because she had found a way to make use of Joan’s madness-which she would not have been able to do if the creatures had not given her their strength. “Since I healed you, I’ve been cut off from wild magic.”
A moment of restless movement passed among the Waynhim; but Linden ignored it. “I’m aware of the danger. I need rest”- badly- ”but that wouldn’t stop me if I knew how to get us out of here. I wouldn’t let the fact that I’m terrified of all that pain stop me. But somehow I’m going to have to relearn how to use Covenant’s ring, and I’m not sure I can do that.”
The Staff of Law would restore her, if she gave it time. It would ward her against the Fall’s torment. But it would not give her access to argence. That she had to rediscover within herself; and she did not know how she had lost the way.
Stave stood before her, impassive and unswayed. “The pain will be less severe,” he pronounced. “You will not be required to oppose the current of the Fall.” He paused to glance around the cave. When he faced Linden again, he said, “And you will not be blocked from wild magic. That hindrance is caused by Esmer’s presence, as he has said, and he is gone.”
Startled, Linden looked quickly for Cail’s son. But Stave was right. Esmer had simply faded away; evaporated like water.
She tried to ask, “Why-?” but she could not complete the question.
Moments ago, the Waynhim had seemed restive. They must have been reacting to Esmer’s disappearance.
“Your intention to enter Andelain displeased him,” replied the Master. “Therefore he has departed.”
Displeased-?
While Linden stared at Esmer’s absence, she scrambled to understand Stave’s revelation.
Esmer had refused to enter the caesure with her. In my presence, you will surely fail. And he had said that the Waynhim were blinded to the proximity of white gold. It is an effect of my nearness.
Damn it, she should have known-
But he could not have caused her failure in the Fall. That was the result of her own weakness, not of his interference.
“Chosen.” Stave’s concentration gave his tone a cutting edge. “We must depart now, while Esmer is absent, and his betrayal has not yet come upon us.”
Abruptly Liand jumped to his feet. “You mislead us, Master,” he put in. “The decisions which Linden must make are not as plain as you wish them to appear.”
Before Stave could retort, Liand rushed on. “If I comprehend aright, our presence here endangers the Arch of Time. And we are in peril of Esmer’s betrayal. But there is another peril which you do not name.” He seemed suddenly furious at everything that the Masters had done in the name of their unyielding convictions. “If we hasten to depart, the harm which Esmer has wrought will fall upon the Waynhim alone. Without our aid, it may be that they will be destroyed.
“You are a Master of the Land. Do you deem the Waynhim unworthy of our concern?”
The young man’s anger-and his loyalty-raised an echo of determination in Linden. With an effort, she set aside her confusion and self-doubt. Tightening her grip on the Staff, she concentrated instead on the hope that Stave had given her; and on the passion of Liand’s support.
Stave’s mien hinted at scorn as he answered the young man. “Esmer’s harm is directed against the Chosen. If she is no longer present in this time, the peril to the Waynhim will dissipate. He gains naught by their destruction.”
“Nothing,” Linden countered, defending Liand in her turn, “except a violation of the Land’s history.”
Stave studied her as though she had surprised him.
“You said yourself,” she continued, “that there haven’t been any significant battles or powers in the South Plains. If the danger doesn’t dissipate, and the Waynhim defend themselves, that might change.
“But even if they let themselves be exterminated-” They know their plight, yet they do not flinch from it. “We don’t know what Esmer might have unleashed. Whatever it is, it could be powerful enough to change history no matter what the Waynhim do.”
Liand’s eyes shone as if Linden had vindicated him.
Stave gave a slight shake of his head. “If he were capable of such things, he would have done so ere now. The Arch of Time would already have fallen.”
Yet time remained intact: she knew that. Stave’s words still reached her in sequence. One thing still led to another-
“No,” she said like a sigh. “It doesn’t work that way for him. He’s too conflicted. We’re his friends, or his enemies. He hates you and approves of me. Or maybe it’s the other way around. As far as I can tell, the only simple thing about him is his respect for the Ranyhyn.” Nothing else had compelled him to refrain from killing Stave. “He doesn’t want them hurt.”
Mahrtiir nodded in confirmation.
Closing her eyes, Linden rubbed at the frown knotted between her brows. “Maybe he is powerful enough to bring down the Arch. I don’t know. But he can’t do it. He needs a balance of some kind. He can’t do anything really destructive if he doesn’t help us at the same time. He can’t help us without betraying us.
“He had to at least warn us. He needs that. And if he didn’t, we wouldn’t have a chance to save the Ranyhyn.”
The Master regarded her closely. “You cannot be certain of this.”
“No,” she admitted. When had she ever been certain of anything except her loves? “But neither can you. And until we are sure, I’m not leaving. The Waynhim have already suffered enough. I won’t leave them until I know they aren’t going to be wiped out.”
Esmer had threatened even the ur-viles with destruction.
For a long moment, Stave appeared to consider her words. Then he lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “Very well,” he said. “You will do as you wish, and I will serve you as well as I am able. In this time, it is useless to oppose you. But understand that nothing has been resolved between us.”
As he turned away, Linden bowed her head over the Staff. She was content with his response. He was Haruchai, inflexible by nature as well as conviction. Yet he had already conceded more than she could have expected from him. She might have closed her eyes then and slept; let vitrim and the Staff work within her undisturbed. But Liand was too restless to leave her alone. And she had been postponing his questions for hours. Sighing to herself, she gave up on sleep in order to relieve some of his imposed ignorance.
While she told him tales of her time with Thomas Covenant, one rambling anecdote after another in no particular order, the Waynhim began to busy themselves around the cave. At first she wondered what they were doing; but then she saw that they were preparing a meal. Apparently they did not live on vitrim alone-or did not expect their guests to do so.
From a side tunnel, they produced a stone pot shaped like a cauldron. One of their flaming urns they placed near the centre of the chamber; and when they had muttered over it for a few moments, intensifying its heat with chants and gestures, they balanced the larger pot on top of it. Then they began sorting ingredients which Linden could not identify into the cooking pot.
As they worked, she continued to talk; and gradually her oblique narrative began to take on another purpose. Instead of answering questions Liand did not how know to ask, she mined her memories: words were the picks and shovels with which she delved for courage and insight. And the names of her lost friends were an incantation. By their magic, she created a place for herself in the Land, a role-and imagined herself able to fulfil it.
“
I thought that the Sunbane and the Ravers were as bad as things could get. For a long time, I didn’t think I would ever see anything worse than the shedding of the Haruchai.” Through the Clave, Lord Foul had attempted genocide against Stave’s ancestors, draining their blood to feed the Banefire. “But when Caer-Caveral was gone, and the Sunbane broke into Andelain for the first time-”
The people and places and needs that she remembered explained her to herself.
“Lord Foul was responsible for all of it,” she said quietly. “He isn’t called the Despiser and Corruption for nothing. He’s contempt and despair. Every time any being or power tramples on life, he’s there. Laughing-”
Only the agony of an entire world could appease his own innominate anguish.
“I’m sure there are times when I act like I’ve lost my mind. I probably confuse the hell out of you. But you already know what’s happening for me. Whenever I do something that looks insane, just remember that Lord Foul has my son.”
When she stopped at last, she found all of the attention in the chamber focused on her. The Waynhim had paused in their preparations to regard her as they would an oracle. Mahrtiir’s concentration was as precise as a hawk’s. Even Stave’s posture conveyed an unexpected impression of respect.
Liand had been listening with wonder on his face. As she looked at him, however, he drew an unsteady breath and shook off his entrancement.
“Now I am able to grasp why Anele is troubled when he speaks of “astonishment”. I know not how to name what you have become to me. I feel that I have gained the experience of years in these past days, and every fact or detail which once seemed commonplace has taken on a new significance.
“To my eyes, you do not appear “insane”. Rather you surpass my capacity for expression. When you speak of that which you have done, and of those whom you have known, you appear to inhabit a realm of antiquity and grandeur. I would say that at your side I seem paltry to myself, yet that belies what is in my heart, for it is not I who am diminished, but rather you who are exalted.”
He glanced around the cave as if he sought confirmation, but only Mahrtiir nodded an acknowledgment. Stave and the Waynhim simply studied Linden and listened as if the fates of worlds were being decided; and Anele sprawled on his ledge, sleeping soundly.
Linden did not know how to respond. If he believed that she occupied “a realm of antiquity and grandeur,” how could he understand that she was terrified and confused, or that she depended on his uncomplicated support?
After a moment, she said, “It isn’t like that. I’m more ordinary than you think.” Covenant fit Liand’s description. She did not. “I just can’t afford to let it get in my way.”
Holding the young man’s gaze, she added, “Do you think that I belong in this position? That I was born to wield tremendous powers and make decisions that could affect the world? No. I do it because I don’t know how else to fight for what I love.” Or for herself. “If Lord Foul hadn’t kidnapped Jeremiah, I wouldn’t even be here.”
As she spoke, her weariness seemed to slip from her shoulders, shrugged aside by the importance of what she was trying to say.
“That makes you braver than I am,” she told Liand. “Don’t you know that? You didn’t have to leave Mithil Stonedown. You didn’t have to help me. Hell, as far as you knew, there wasn’t even anything at stake. But you did it anyway.
“You did it because you didn’t believe in your own life. The Masters made it too small for you, and you jumped at your first chance to make it bigger.”
Let Stave take offense if he would. She had not kept secret her reaction to what his people had done.
“If there’s anyone here,” she pronounced like an article of faith, “who deserves to “inhabit a realm of antiquity and grandeur,” it’s you. And Mahrtiir.” She met the Manethrall’s gaze briefly. “Bhapa. Pahni. You’re less selfish than I am. You haven’t lost a helpless kid who needs you. Instead you decided to risk your entire lives for the simple reason that you consider it worth doing.”
In response, Liand regarded her as though she had lifted him out of himself. All of the Waynhim continued to study her closely, and Mahrtiir’s eagerness for battle shone in his eyes.
But Stave stood near the centre of the chamber with his arms folded across his chest and his emotions hidden. His native reticence defied her discernment. But the scar under his eye caught the light of the urns and gleamed redly.
Eventually the Waynhim resumed their preparations; and Linden watched them, haunted by Esmer’s dark promises. Too many of them will perish if you do not contrive their salvation. He might conceivably have been referring to the harm that the creatures suffered from the Staff; but she did not believe so. He had spoken too often of betrayal.
When she realised that she was fretting, she asked the Manethrall if Pahni and Bhapa should be warned of the danger. He assured her, however, that the Cords had been trained as hunters and scouts; sentinels for the great horses. No doubt the ur-viles were wary as well: they had their own reasons to distrust Esmer. And the senses of the Ranyhyn were preternaturally acute. They would be able to detect any threat before it fell upon the Waynhim.
With as much patience as she could muster, Linden waited for the creatures to ready their meal.
Fortunately they did so without further delay. Using wooden ladles, they filled stone bowls with a steaming broth that looked like sludge and smelled like stagnant pond water. These they offered to their guests before partaking themselves.
In spite of its superficial reek, the steam curling from the bowls spoke to Linden’s senses of much-needed sustenance. The aura of the broth was redolent with nourishment; and she was surprised to find that she was hungry. Her first sip threatened to gag her, but the second went down more easily, and the third she swallowed almost eagerly.
Meeting her glance, Liand gave her a rueful smile. Politely he consumed some of his broth. Then he set down his bowl with an air of relief and turned to assist Mahrtiir with Anele.
Together Liand and the Manethrall roused the old man and encouraged him to sup.
While she ate, Linden studied the stone of the cave, trying to read its old, slow, imponderable sentience, as Anele sometimes did. With the Staff in her lap, she thought for a moment that she could detect hints of knowledge in the clenched rock. But her human mind slid past them too rapidly to be sure of their presence.
Because her attention was elsewhere, she did not notice Pahni’s approach until the Cord appeared at the mouth of the outward tunnel.
The young woman-Linden still thought of her as a girl-ventured hesitantly into the cave. She may have feared to interrupt some important conclave or invocation. Her face was set, however, and she did not allow timidity or self-consciousness to hold her back. Avoiding the Waynhim, she advanced toward Linden and Mahrtiir.
All of the creatures stopped what they were doing and turned to consider her with their moist nostrils.
Liand flashed a broad smile at the Cord. But the pleasure fell from him when he recognised the quality of her determination.
Instinctively Linden rose to her feet. She held the Staff upright beside her, its heel planted on the floor, as if she meant to call forth its power.
Mahrtiir stood also; and Stave joined them. Liand mopped unceremoniously at a spill of broth in Anele’s beard, then surged erect as well.
Hurrying now, the young woman offered them a quick Ramen bow.
The Manethrall replied with a brusque nod. “Speak, Cord. We have awaited some word of what transpires in the night.”
In the night-? Linden was surprised to realise that so much time had passed.
Darkness would limit even the unquantified perceptions of the Ranyhyn.
“Manethrall.” Pahni bowed again reflexively. Her voice held a tremor of anxiety as she said, “Shortly before sunset, Esmer came among us. He attempted to draw the Ranyhyn away.” She frowned to mask a distinctly Ramen disdain. “I had not thought him so foolish. He should have known th
at they would not abandon their riders.”
“He is troubled,” Mahrtiir replied. His tone made it clear that he did not consider being troubled an adequate excuse.
Pahni nodded. “Yet we were concerned, Bhapa and I, for he spoke slightingly to us, foretelling death. Then he departed, though we could not name where or how he had gone.
“Because of his words, we widened our guard over the Ranyhyn. Still we found no sign of peril.
“Shortly after moonrise, however, came Naharahn-the proud mare who has shown me such honour-”
Abruptly the Cord fell silent, flustered by her awe and gratitude.
Mahrtiir did not rush her.
When Pahni had taken a deep breath to steady herself, she was able to continue. “Naharahn made it known to me that something discomfited her. What it was I could not determine by scent or sight or sound. But Whrany, who bears Bhapa, felt likewise disturbed. And their unrest spread swiftly among the other Ranyhyn.”
To herself, Linden groaned. She was not ready to attempt another caesure. But she did not interrupt the Cord.
“Sure of them,” Pahni finished, “Bhapa has descended toward the plains, seeking the cause of their concern. Before he departed, however, we agreed that you must be forewarned.”
As she said this, Pahni looked through her lashes at the Manethrall as if she half expected him to reprimand her for leaving her assigned duties.
He did not. Instead he said, “You have done rightly. Return now to the Ranyhyn.” In spite of his apparent calm, his voice held a rising eagerness. “We will follow when we have offered our respect to the Waynhim.”
With another nod, he dismissed the Cord.
Bowing once more, Pahni turned and hastened, fleet as a colt, out of the cave.
Liand watched her go as if he wanted to run after her; but he made no move to leave Linden’s side.
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