Fatal Revenant

life that she had lost, Jeremiah had been her Andelain. His fey creative constructs and helplessness echoed Andelain’s frangible loveliness. And the use that Lord Foul now made of her son was as bitter and unforgivable as the Sunbane.

If Good cannot be accomplished by evil means, then she would believe that her means were not evil.

Three times, the company paused. The first was for Anele. Apparently his blind destination was the same as Linden’s. She had scarcely begun to worry about him when she found him directly in her path. He was talking to himself in a variety of voices-too many for her to distinguish-and walking at an erratic rate, alternately slowed and spurred by a chaos of fractured communication. But he noticed the riders as soon as they drew near. At once, he scrambled at Hrama’s sides as if he knew that his mount would protect him. When Galesend lifted him onto Hrama’s back, he fell silent at once. Moments later, worn out by indecipherable utterances, he fell asleep with his arms dangling on either side of Hrama’s neck.

Andelain had healed the burns inflicted by the blood of the skurj.

Later, as the sun reached noon, the company halted beside a lazy rill to water the Ranyhyn and let them crop the grass. The Ramen and Liand gathered treasure-berries while Linden restored the flagging stamina of the Giants. And later still, in the middle of the afternoon, they stopped again for the same reasons.

In spite of the pressure driving her, Linden felt calm and sure; content with the company’s progress. Andelain nurtured a tranquillity as pervasive as mansuetude. She would reach the Soulsease when she reached it. If night fell, darkness would not prevent her from locating the krill.

The Wraiths had allowed her to enter among the Hills.

Bemused by thoughts of acceptance and vindication, Linden mounted Hyn once more. When the Giants were ready, she rode on as if Andelain had healed all of her fears.

And as the sun neared the treetops in the west, casting long shadows like striations of augury across her path, she caught her first glimpse of the river through the gold leaves of Gilden and the warm flowers of fruit trees.

Tossing his head with an air of hauteur, Hynyn greeted the sight with a clarion whinny; and Hyn took a few dancing steps in a horse’s gavotte. “Stone and Sea!” panted Coldspray. “When you tell the tale of your journeys, Linden Giantfriend, you must credit what we have accomplished in your name. Weary as we were, and are, I would not have believed-” She cut short her wonder and pride to catch her breath. Then she said, “You voiced a desire to gain the Soulsease River ere nightfall. We have done so. The achievement of your purpose is at hand. We will pray for the Land’s healing. Thereafter we will expend entire seasons in celebration.”

In a rush of excitement, Linden urged Hyn to quicken her strides. The Soulsease-! Conflicted by confluences in the west, and polluted in the east by its turmoil within the belly of Mount Thunder, the river was untrammelled and placid while it ran through Andelain: gentle as a caress, and warm as a vein of life. Millennia ago, she and Covenant had followed the course of the Soulsease toward their confrontation with the Despiser. Now she was less than a league from the place where they had left Loric’s krill after Hollian’s resurrection.

The sun had only begun to set, and already she was within a Giant’s shout of her goal: the justification for everything that she had suffered and done since she had learned the truth about Roger Covenant and the croyel.

The other Ranyhyn kept pace with Hyn. Behind them, the Giants ran in spite of their protracted weariness. Swift with anticipation, the company rounded a last hillock, passed through a grove of stately Gilden, and reached the river.

Here the Soulsease tended quietly northeastward. Between its broad banks, however, it opened a gap among the trees. Although the sun was sinking, its light still lay along the water; and its farewell fire burnished the river, transforming the current to ruddy bronze like a carpet unrolled to welcome the advent of night.

As the company halted, Linden recognised the satisfied pride of the Giants, the calm confidence of the Ranyhyn. She tasted Liand’s pleasure and that of the Cords. Indeed, Pahni’s and Bhapa’s gladness was dimmed only by their Manethrall’s clenched, contained sorrow. Linden sensed the depth of Anele’s dreamless slumber, the solidity of Stave’s presence, the ungiving impassivity of the Humbled. But now she shared none of their reactions. Her attention had already gone past the Soulsease.

On the far side of the river, she saw the Harrow.

His relaxed poise as he sat his destrier made it obvious that he was waiting for her.

Chapter Twelve: Trust Yourself

Linden’s heart thudded as Stave said quietly. “Chosen,” warning her.

What I seek, lady, is to possess your instruments of power.

A moment later, she felt a surge of alarm from Liand. “Heaven and Earth,” he breathed. “He is here? Does he dare to meditate harm in Andelain?”

What I will have, however, is your companionship.

Under his breath, Mahrtiir muttered Ramen curses.

“Mayhap he does not,” suggested Stave. “The Wraiths have permitted him.”

The Harrow could unmake Demondim-spawn with a gesture; an incantation. Did he have the same kind of power over the Wraiths?

Linden shook her head. No. The ur-viles and Waynhim were unnatural creatures. I have made a considerable study of such beings. But the Wraiths were avatars of Earthpower: they flourished among Andelain’s organic largesse. The Harrow’s ability to destroy artificial life did not imply a comparable threat to the Wraiths.

They had accepted his presence as they had accepted Linden’s.

I am able to convey you to your son.

The sight of him transformed her certainty to confusion.

Gritting his teeth, Mahrtiir answered the surprise of the Swordmainnir. Two nights ago, Linden had told them about the Harrow. Now Mahrtiir identified the figure, dun with dusk, on the south bank of the Soulsease. Grimly he repeated what he knew of the ornately caped and clad Insequent.

While the Manethrall spoke, Liand nudged Rhohm to Hyn’s side. “Linden,” he whispered urgently, “what will you do? He covets both your Staff and the white gold ring. Yet he has forsworn coercion.” The Mahdoubt had given up her life to wrest that oath from the Harrow. “And he claims that he can bear you to your son.

“If his word holds, how will he gain his desires? Will you bargain with him to gain passage to your son?”

Esmer and Roger had fought to stop the Harrow; to kill him if they could not remove him from this time. Linden assumed that moksha Raver’s kresh had attacked for the same reason. They wanted to prevent her from reaching Jeremiah.

But Kastenessen could not enter Andelain. The Despiser would not. Perhaps Esmer himself had no power here. Presumably even Roger did not pose a threat. The awakened krill and the Wraiths warded the Hills.

The Harrow was safe. As safe as Linden.

She had nothing to bargain with except her Staff and Covenant’s ring. Could she trade them away now? Abandon her purpose? For Jeremiah’s sake?

What would that accomplish? Without Earthpower and wild magic, she would have nothing to free him from the croyel-

The prospect scattered her thoughts like a gust of wind in dried leaves. She had experienced imponderable rescues, miracles of hope. Caerroil Wildwood had completed her Staff. The Mahdoubt had retrieved her from the Land’s past. And Anele had named other mysteries. Two days ago, he had told her that Morinmoss redeemed the covenant, the white gold wielder. The Forestal sang, and Morinmoss answered.

She needed to believe that she was not done with wonders; that she could accomplish what she had come here to do. That she might find Jeremiah without surrendering any of her strengths. Otherwise she would be