The Runes of the Earth

“Hold, Chosen,” he said from the edge of the clearing. “For the sake of the Land, I must hear what is decided.”

He spoke softly. Nonetheless strain throbbed in his voice.

Linden turned to look at him-and winced at the sight of his pain. The lacerations inside his chest had not yet healed enough to bear the effort of standing upright. Yet that hurt faded to a shadow beside the bright distress of his dislocated hip. He must have hopped to the clearing from his bed, jolting his hip abominably with every movement.

She wanted to swear at him. The damn fool should have stayed in bed.

The Manethralls also regarded Stave. Dohn softly instructed Bhapa to aid the sleepless one; but before the Cord could rise, Liand surged to his feet and hastened toward Stave. His settled distrust of the Masters had no effect on his concern.

Stave did not allow Liand to touch him. Balancing on his good leg, however, he braced one hand on the Stonedownor’s shoulder for support.

So suddenly that he snatched a gasp from Linden, he clenched his free hand into a fist and punched at his dislocation.

With a sound like a muffled break, his hip snapped back into place.

Sweat stood instantly on his forehead, and he sagged against Liand. Yet he neither flinched nor cried out. Instead he lowered his foot to the ground as if he believed that now his leg would be able to bear his weight.

It did. Somehow it did. Still holding Liand’s shoulder, Stave hobbled toward the ring of seats as if he were dragging Liand’s consternation with him.

Involuntarily furious, Linden breathed, “You idiot!” as Stave lowered himself onto one of the blocks. “Next time, I’ll have the Ramen tie you down. I didn’t go through all that,” wild magic threatening to scale out of control, “just so you could cripple yourself.”

But she perceived at once that he had not done so. He was Haruchai; impossibly hardy. And hurtloam had already wrought miracles of healing within him. His hip would hurt for weeks; perhaps for months. But his blow had caused no permanent harm.

“Chosen,” he replied through his pain, “did you not say that I must warn my people? Then I must hear you now.”

Linden shrugged against her anger. “You won’t like it.”

She would show him, however, that she did not mean to be swayed.

Liand seated himself beside Stave. His concern for the Master had become a look of alarm. Bhapa frowned at Linden with his good eye. Dohn had resumed his vague study of the surrounding mountainsides; but Mahrtiir watched her like a man who had glimpsed the struggle for which his spirit hungered.

Complex uncertainties filled Hami’s eyes as she murmured, “It may be that your words will please no one among us. Yet we also must hear them. The Ranyhyn require it of us.”

Linden faced them all as well as she could. Speaking harshly to contain her fear, she said, “Hell, even I don’t like it, and it’s my idea.”

Then she dropped her gaze to the ground. She could not bear to watch her companions’ reactions.

“Esmer and I talked about caesures, Falls,” she began, clumsy again, incapable of grace. “According to him, they’re flaws in time. Rips. They tear open the barrier,” the necessary boundary, “between the past and the present. Lord Foul wants to destroy the Arch of Time. Caesures are just one of the ways he’s trying to accomplish that.”

One small rent at a time, over and over again, until the entire fabric tattered and fell.

“If Esmer is right, Anele really is the son of Sunder and Hollian. Three thousand and some years ago, he left the Staff of Law behind when he went to investigate a wrongness that turned out to be a Fall. He had no defence when the Fall snatched him out of his life.

“The ur-viles came here the same way,” Linden continued. “Lord Foul tried to exterminate them, back in the time of the Sunbane, but a few of them escaped into a Fall.” Here she had probably encountered every remaining descendant of the Demondim. “Esmer seems to think they came looking for a future when they would be needed.

“Apparently caesures first started to haunt the Land maybe a hundred years ago. They’re comparatively recent. That may be why any of us are still alive. But Esmer says there are limits to what Foul can accomplish with them. The Despiser has access to a white gold ring. In theory, he already has all the power he needs. But he can’t simply tear down the Arch-or even attack it directly. The ring belongs to a woman who is completely broken. Too broken to be anything more than a tool.”

And Covenant had given his life to secure the Arch. In some sense, his spirit still stood against Lord Foul.

After a pause, she avowed grimly, “I believe him. But we don’t have to take his word for it. We already know that Time is essentially intact. We’re still here. The Land is still here. Cause and effect still apply. And I doubt that even ur-viles have the power to elude Lord Foul.

“The Falls are a terrible threat, but they aren’t enough. Foul needs more.”

So far Linden felt only concentration from her listeners, not denial. They all had reason to take Esmer’s words seriously. And no one had suggested a better explanation for Anele’s baffled predicament-or for the presence of the ur-viles.

She had harder things yet to say.

Studying the bare dirt, she said, “The way I see it, the caesures are relatively small. They may span thousands of years, but they don’t cover much ground. And they move slowly. That limits how much harm they can do.

“But I think there’s another limitation,” a restriction in addition to Joan’s insanity. “Esmer didn’t say this,” he had merely asserted that any alteration of the established past would damage the Law of Time, “but I think the Falls only run forward. From the past to the present. Otherwise Foul could send someone into the past,” God, he could even send Joan, “or he could go himself. He could change what’s already happened. That would do more to threaten the Law of Time than the caesures themselves.”

Trying to reassure herself, she concluded awkwardly, “In other words, things could be worse.”

The more she said, however, the more her intentions appalled her. Soon her companions would respond with indignation and dismay. They would certainly oppose her.

She was not Thomas Covenant: she lacked the personal extremity for such risks.

“Ringthane,” Hami responded in a neutral tone, “this is important knowledge. It explains much. But it does not reveal how such peril may be countered. Again I must ask.

“What is your intent?”

In fear, Linden might have countered, Why do I have to make these decisions? What would you do if I weren’t here? She might have demanded, Ask Esmer, not me. He knows what’s going on. I don’t.

But she knew better. She was Linden Avery the Chosen, named Ringthane and Wildwielder. Jeremiah was her son. There was no one else to whom she could offer her burdens.

In spite of her trepidation, she raised her eyes to gaze at each of her companions: at the Manethralls, who feared for the Ranyhyn more than for the Land; at Bhapa, who appeared to feel indebted to her, commanded by blood to repay Sahah’s life; at Liand, who had already shown that he would support her whatever she did; at Stave, who might believe that she served Corruption.

Then she pronounced distinctly, “We need the Staff of Law. I intend to go get it.”

Liand stared at her, his face wide with confusion. Stave raised his eyebrows as if she had contrived to pierce his impassivity. Frowning, Bhapa looked away. He may have been reluctant to hear what she would say next.

Dohn had covered his eyes with his hands. His posture radiated chagrin. Protests gathered on Hami’s visage. But Mahrtiir looked at Linden as if he had heard the call to battle.

She held up her hands to forestall objections which her companions had not uttered. “I know, I know. Anele lost the Staff three and a half thousand years ago. And if I’m right, I can’t get there from here. Caesures only run forward.”

Then she knotted one fist on Covenant’s ring under her shirt. “But Lord Foul isn’t the only one who has access to wild magic.” And he could not truly control Joan: her madness made her unwieldy. “If I can find a Fall,