Fatal Revenant

the Land’s future. Doubtless they would not slumber now. But they made it plain that they would not answer if she spoke.

Esmer had told her, You must be the first to drink of the EarthBlood, but she did not know what would happen to Covenant and Jeremiah if she did as Cail’s son had instructed; if she tried to save her boy before Covenant could act on behalf of the Land.

Jeremiah was lost to her, no matter what she did. Nevertheless she loved him-and the Land. And she had no intention of forgetting about Roger. Or Joan? ring.

Chapter Ten: Tactics of Confrontation

As Covenant had promised, they emerged from Bargas Slit by mid-morning; and Linden saw Garroting Deep clearly for the first time. After a long cold trudge through the constricted dusk of the barranca, she and her companions regained open sunlight no more than a stone’s throw from the verge of the great forest. Behind them, the Last Hills formed a ragged, crumbling wall against the Centre Plains and the rest of the Land. Ahead of them spread the vast expanse of Caerroil Wildwood’s demesne, dark and forbidding as far as she could see.

Standing under the sun on the bare hillside beside the ravine’s small rivulet, she felt that she was in the presence of something ancient, ineffable, and threatening.

Although she stretched her health-sense, she could discern no sign of theurgy or peril; no hint of anything that resembled the numinous music which she had last heard in Andelain. She saw only trees and more trees: majestic cedars and firs interspersed with pines, occasional lambent Gilden, and other evergreens clinging stubbornly to their leaves and needles; oaks, elms, and sycamores, aspens and birches denuded by winter, their boughs stark and skeletal in the sunshine. A few scrub juniper, desiccated ferns, and aliantha lived between the trunks, but for the most part uncounted centuries of fallen leaves formed a rich carpet of decay and sustenance.

Nonetheless Garroting Deep seemed irreducibly ominous. Its dark foliage and naked branches whispered warnings in the morning breeze. For millennia, the trees of the Land had suffered slaughter; and here, in their potent and baleful heart, they nurtured outrage.

Linden had hoped to catch a glimpse of the Westron Mountains, and perhaps even of Melenkurion Skyweir. But Garroting Deep was too wide, and too many of its trees were giants, towering monoliths as mighty as sequoias: they hid what lay beyond them.

Before dawn that morning, she had left the horses behind, as Covenant had instructed. An unavoidable decision: one of the mounts, the beast that he had ridden last, had perished during the night; and the two remaining animals could not bear three riders. Instead of using one or both of them to carry supplies, she had spilled what was left of the grain and hay to the ground, and had abandoned the horses to fend for themselves. There was nothing more that she could do for them. When she had packed as much food as she could lift comfortably into a bundle which she slung over her shoulder, she had followed Covenant and Jeremiah deeper into the gloom and the scraping wind, rough as a strigil, of Bargas Slit.

Their passage along the ravine had seemed interminable and bitter; fundamentally doomed. Covenant had called Garroting Deep the most dangerous of the old forests. He had said that Caerroil Wildwood is an out-and-out butcher. Yet now he sought out that fell place and its fatal guardian. There are times when it’s useful to be stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Standing at last in sunlight near the edge of the trees, she understood him no better than she had the previous evening. Garroting Deep was impassable. And the slopes of the Last Hills here looked even more rugged than those facing the Centre Plains. Over the ages, the forest had lapped against them like a sea; had broken them into cliffs and gouges as though they had been raked by claws. Finding a route along them would be far more difficult than she had imagined.

Fortunately the atmosphere here was warmer than the winter of the Centre Plains. The trees absorbed and held more of the sun’s heat; or Caerroil Wildwood exerted himself to moderate the aftereffects of Lord Foul’s long shadow. There was no snow within the Deep itself. And the small scarps and fans of ice clinging to the hills looked porous, vaguely rotten; made frangible by evaporation and old resentment.

The journey ahead may have been impossible. Nonetheless Linden was grateful to escape the worst of the cold.

She dropped her burden so that she could rest her shoulder and arms. “All right,” she remarked to Covenant. “this is definitely ‘a rock and a hard place”. How does it help us?”

“Well,” he drawled without meeting her gaze, “that’s not exactly what I meant.” He was studying the line of hills to the northwest. “But it’s a step in the right direction. For one thing, the Theomach won’t be able to keep an eye on us anymore. The Last Hills have soaked up a lot of rage from the Deep. And of course,” he added sardonically. “the stone of the Land has always sympathised with trees. All that rock and indignation will shield us pretty thoroughly.

“Which means,” he said with harsh satisfaction. “we can finally start to travel faster.”

“But you-” Linden began, alarmed in spite of her determination to maintain a calm facade. Then she caught herself. Taking a deep breath, she asked more casually, “Won’t we be noticed? You said something about “opposition”.

“It’s a risk,” he admitted. “We’ll try to minimise it. Stay below the radar.” Abruptly he glanced at Jeremiah. “What do you think? That ridge?’ He pointed. “The one with the crescent of obsidian? Looks like about three leagues to me.”

Jeremiah considered the distance for a moment. Then he suggested, “What about the next one? It looks like somebody took a bite out of it. I think it’s a bit more than four leagues.”

“Fine.” Covenant nodded decisively. “Your eyes are better than mine. As long as you can see it-”

At last, he turned to Linden. “We want to do this with as little fanfare as possible.” His eyes seemed empty, devoid of embers; almost lifeless. “The more effort we put into it, the more attention we’ll attract. So we’re going to move in short hops. Strictly line-of-sight. And we’ll stay as close to the Deep as we can. The way the Forestal and his trees talk to each other emits a lot of background noise. Ordinary people can’t hear it, but it’s there. It’ll make us harder to spot.”

“What are they saying?” Linden asked impulsively.

Covenant shrugged. “How should I know? I’m not a piece of wood.”

He had claimed that he was The keystone of the Arch of Time-I know everything. Or I can, if I make the effort.

Jeremiah looked at her, but she could not read his expression. His soiled gaze may have held reproach or commiseration. “Actually, Mom,” he said uneasily. “they’re talking about us.” The muscle at the corner of his left eye twitched. “They hope we’ll go into the forest. They like the taste of human blood.”

Before she could respond, he asked Covenant with his familiar diffidence, “You’re ready, aren’t you’?”

“Hell, yes,” muttered Covenant. “I’ve been ready for days.”

Like the taste-And if they liked it so much that Caerroil Wildwood reached out past the borders of his demesne? What then?

“Just tell me one more thing,” Linden said, hurrying. “The Theomach can’t see us anymore. Having me with you is supposed to placate the Elohim. Whose ‘opposition’ are you worried about’?”

Covenant seemed too impatient to answer. Instead Jeremiah said, “It’s better if we don’t tell you, Mom.” His tone reminded her of his anger when she had insisted on seeing whether he had been shot. “They’re more likely to notice us if we say their names.”

Ah, hell, Linden sighed. In this circumstance, her mind cannot be distinguished from the Arch of Time. Perhaps that made sense. In the wrong time and place, unearned knowledge could be more dangerous than ignorance. She was acutely aware of the manner in which her companions manipulated her. Nevertheless she had come too far, and had accepted too much, to infuriate Covenant and threaten her son with protests.