Fatal Revenant

“You mean,” he interrupted, “how long have I been able to talk?’ Now he did not meet her gaze. Instead he looked at Covenant as if he needed help. “Since we came to the Land.”

“Linden,” Covenant suggested, his voice sloppy with springwine, “you should ask him where his mind has been all this time. He made it pretty obvious that he always had a mind. Where do you suppose it was?”

Linden kept her eyes and her heart fixed on her son. “Jeremiah? Can you tell me?”

So far, he had revealed nothing that might aid her.

He twitched his shoulders awkwardly. The tic of his eye increased its thetic signalling. “It’s hard to explain. For a while”- he sighed- “I don’t know how long, I was sort of hiding. It was like a different version of being in two places at once. Except the other place wasn’t anywhere in particular. It was just away.” Flames empty of daylight gave his face a ruddy flush, made him look feverish. “It was safe.

“But then you gave me that racecar set with all the tracks and pylons. When it was done-when you gave me enough pieces, and they were all connected in the right shapes-I had a”- he clung to Covenant with his eyes- “a loop. Like a worm that eats its own tail. I guess you could call it a door in my mind. I went through it. And when I did that, I came here.

“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?”