She could not do everything. Already, she had made herself faint with self-expenditure, and the ground sprawling below her to the horizons reeled. She had nothing left with which she might bring back the Land's trees and meadows and crops, its creatures and birds. But she had done enough. She knew without questioning the knowledge that seeds remained in the soil-that even among the wrecked treasures of the Waynhim were things which might yet produce fruit and young-that the weather would be able to find its own patterns again. She saw birds and animals still nourishing in the mountains to the west and south, where the Sunbane had not reached: they would eventually return. The people who stayed alive in their small villages would be able to endure.
And she saw one more reason for hope, one more fact that made the future possible. Much of Andelain had been preserved. Around its heart, it had mustered its resistance-and had prevailed.
Because Sunder and Hollian were there.
In their human way, they contained as much Earthpower as the Hills; and they had fought-Linden saw how they had fought. The loveliness of what they were-and of what they served-was lambent about them. Already, it had begun to regain the lost region.
Yes, she breathed to herself. Yes.
Across the wide leagues, she spoke a word to them that they would understand. Then she withdrew.
She feared the dismissal would take her while she was still too far from her body to bear the strain. As keen as a gale, the wind reached toward her. Too weary even to smile at what she had accomplished, she went wanly back through the rock toward Kiril Threndor and dissolution.
When she gained the cave, she saw in the faces of the' Giants that she had already faded beyond their perceptions. Grief twisted Pitchwife's visage; the First's eyes streamed. They had no way of knowing what had happened-and would not know it until they found their way out of the Wightwarrens to gaze upon the free Land. But Linden could not bear to leave them hurt. They had given her too much. With her last power, she reached out and placed a silent touch of victory in their minds. It was the only gift she had left.
But it, too, was enough. The First started in wonder: unexpected gladness softened her face. And Pitchwife threw back his head to crow like a clean dawn, “Linden Avery! Have I not said that you are well Chosen?”
The long wind pulled through Linden. In moments, she would lose the Giants forever. Yet she clung to them. Somehow, she lasted long enough to see the First pick up the Staff of Law.
Linden still held the ring; but at the last moment she must have dropped the Staff beside the dais. The First lifted it like a promise. “This must not fall to ill hands,” she murmured* Her voice was as solid as granite: it nearly surpassed Linden's hearing. “I will ward it in the name of the future which Earthfriend and Chosen have procured with their lives. If Sunder or Hollian yet live, they will have need of it”
Pitchwife laughed and cried and kissed her. Then he bent, lifted Covenant into his arms. His back. was strong and straight. Together, he and the First left Kiril Threndor. She strode like a Swordmain, ready for the world. But he moved at her side with a gay hop and caper, as if he were dancing.
There Linden let go. The mountain towered over her, as imponderable as the gaps between the stars. It was heavier than sorrow, greater than loss. Nothing would ever heal what it had endured. She was only mortal; but Mount Thunder's grief would go on without let or surcease, unambergrised for all time.
Then the wind took her, and she felt herself go out.
Out into the dark.
Epilogue. Restoration
Twenty One: “To Say Farewell”
BUT WHEN she was fully in the grip of the wind, she no longer felt its force. It reft her from the Land as if she were mist; but like mist she could not be hurt now. She had been battered numb. When the numbness passed, her pain would find its voice again and cry out. But that prospect had lost its power to frighten her. Pain was only the other side of love; and she did not regret it.
Yet for the present she was quiet, and the wind bore her gently across the illimitable dark. Her percipience was already gone, lost like the Land: she had no way to measure the spans of loneliness she traversed. But the ring-Covenant's ring,
And while she was swept through the midnight between worlds, she remembered music-little snatches of a song Pitchwife had once sung. For a time, they were only snatches. Then their ache brought them together.
My heart has rooms that sigh with dust
And ashes in the hearth.
They must be cleaned and blown away
By daylight's breath. But I cannot essay the task,
For even dust to me is dear;
For dust and ashes still recall,
My love was here.
I know not how to say Farewell,
When Farewell is the word
That stays alone for me to say
Or will be heard.
But I cannot speak out that word
Or ever let my loved one go:.
How can I bear it that these rooms
Are empty so?
I sit among the dust and hope
That dust will cover me.
I stir the ashes in the hearth,
Though cold they be.
I cannot bear to close the door,
To seal my loneliness away
While dust and ashes yet remain
Of my love's day.
The song. made her think of her father.
He came back to her like Pitchwife's voice, sprawling there in the old rocker while his last life bled away- driven to self-murder by the possession of Despite. His loathing of himself had grown so great that it had become a loathing of life. It had been like her mother's religion, only able to prove itself true by imposing itself upon the people around it. But it had been false; and she thought of him now with regret and pity which she had never before been able to afford. He had been wrong about her: she had loved him dearly. She had loved both her parents, although she had been badly misled by her own bitterness.
In a curious way, that recognition made her ready. She was not startled or bereft when Covenant spoke to her out of the void.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly, husky with emotion. “There aren't enough words for it anywhere. But thanks.”
The sound of his voice made tears stream down her face. They stung like sorrow on her cheeks. But she
