The Runes of the Earth

Belabouring the floor of the dell with her pain, she saw Jeremiah’s plight as Hyn and Hynyn wished her to see it: as if he were simultaneously herself occupied by a Raver and Thomas Covenant lost in the stasis imposed by the Elohim. She needed them back desperately, Covenant and her son. All of their lives depended on it: the Land depended on it. And so she reached-or would reach-into him with her health-sense, seeking the place where his mind still lived.

The Ranyhyn elicited it from her, shared it with her: a field of flowers under an immaculate sun, pristine with warmth and promises. Covenant and now Jeremiah met her there, or would meet her, both children again, and unharmed; capable of a child’s love, happiness, joy. Yet the visions of the horserite were unutterably cruel; for when she reached out to Covenant and Jeremiah, trying to restore them with herself, the Worm of the World’s End squirmed from Covenant’s mouth, and her son’s dear face seemed to break open and become vile, bitter as Despite.

Hyn and Hynyn would have been kinder to simply trample Linden under their hooves.

“The Ranyhyn believe,” she said with her last strength, “I’ll do the same thing Elena did.”

Surely Stave would have admitted as much, had he chosen to speak? Yet he said nothing. His eyes held an uncharacteristic softness as he regarded her. Somehow he conveyed the impression that he, too, would have comforted her, if he had known how.

Hyn and Hynyn had given her a warning. Unlike Elena, she recognised that. And she understood that such efforts were necessary to the great horses. They needed to appease their shame. How could they see what they had seen, dread what they dreaded, and not try to guide the hope of the Land?

But she did not know where or when they wished her to step aside from her intentions. And she did not mean to recant any of her decisions. Thomas Covenant had told her to trust herself.

She did not know that she had fallen asleep; or that her friends had stretched her out on one of the beds and covered her with blankets; or that Liand and Bhapa, Char and Pahni, had kept watch over her throughout the night. She did not know whether she dreamed, or what those insights may have cost her. When she awakened, however, aliantha and Earthpower had worked a transformation within her, and she was sure of herself.

Sleep and warmth and nourishment had done much to heal her; but she still could not stop shivering. Now, however, she understood what was happening to her. She shook as if she were feverish because she was sick with fear.

Her plan to enter a caesure and reverse its flow might damage or destroy the Arch of Time. And she had no one to guide her through history’s ramified layers except a blind old man with a broken mind.

Hyn and Hynyn would aid her as they had aided Elena: she did not doubt that. They had declared their allegiance in the horserite, articulated it against the hard floor of the dell. They would bear her wherever she willed. And she had become convinced that their warnings did not pertain to her immediate choices. The dangers they foresaw lay somewhere in the distance ahead of her.

But others around her might not be so trusting; or so desperate. She had told everyone who could hear her that the Ranyhyn feared what she might do-

The visions of the horserite may have inspired Stave to renew his opposition. That was possible. On the other hand, she trusted Liand to stand by her. And Anele would certainly accompany her. Even at his most demented, he would accept any risk which might restore him to the Staff of Law.

But she did not know what to expect from the Ramen. They supported the Ranyhyn utterly, bowed to the will of the great horses in all things. However, they knew now that the Ranyhyn feared her. After millennia of service, they might decide that their responsibilities ran deeper than simple compliance.

Then there were the ur-viles. And Esmer. Both had the power to prevent her, if they elected to do so. Esmer had told her that the ur-viles wished to serve her. But he wielded forces which she could not begin to measure or counteract.

Two days ago-was it only two days? – he had spent the night among the mountains, exerting himself in ways which the Ramen had called storms.

She tried to open her eyes then, impelled by tremors; but they were caked shut. Sleep and the aftereffects of prostration blinded her. She had to lift the rough weight of her blankets in order to raise her hands to her face, rub the crust from her lids.

When she had done so, she blinked her sight clear and looked up into Liand’s waiting concern.

Bhapa and Pahni stood behind him, watching her efforts to rouse herself. Nearby Char tended the fire; kept the flames hot for her sake. But the Stonedownor sat on the bed beside her, bending over her, stroking her hair. His strained visage dominated her view.

“Linden,” he said softly as she focused her eyes on him. “It is good to see you wake. I feared that this ague would hold you until it frayed the thews of your spirit.”

Liand, she tried to say. Oh, Liand. But she could not force her throat to release words.

Tears moistened his gaze for a moment. “If you are able, you must speak. I would urge you to rest silent, but there is an illness within you which we know not how to tend. You must name what is needed to restore you.

“Is it hurtloam? Already the Manethralls have dispatched Cords for it, but the way is long, and they will not return soon. Will treasure-berries succour you? The Ramen have gathered them in plenty. And amanibhavam, if that is your need. Only speak-”

She shook her head, striving to interrupt him. She wanted to tell him that she was not as sick as she appeared; or that she was sick in another way. But the residue of the horserite filled her throat with ashes, and her mouth and tongue had forgotten the shapes of language.

As Liand pleaded with her, Char left the fire and hastened from the shelter. In the distance, she heard him announce, “The Ringthane wakes.”

Oh, God. Linden closed her eyes, covered her face with her hands. Give me courage.

Then Liand thrust an arm under her neck, lifted her into a half-sitting position. Carefully, almost reverently, Pahni offered a bowl of water to her lips. From the bowl came a delicate scent of aliantha.

Lowering her arms, Linden sipped at water mixed with the juice of treasure-berries. Succoured by that gentle touch of Earthpower, she found words.

“Liand.” Her voice was a thin croak, barely audible. “Just hold me. You’re already giving me”- she sipped more water- “what I need. Just hold me until I’m ready to stand.”

At once, he shifted himself behind her; braced her against his chest with his arms around her. Tentatively he protested, “Yet this fever, Linden-”

She shook her head. “I’ll be all right.” His attention to her weakness threatened her resolve. She could not afford to acknowledge that she might fail. She was too fragile” You’re my friend. That’s enough.”

Reaching for Pahni’s bowl again, she gulped down as much as she could swallow. Then she began climbing to her feet.

“No,” Liand objected. “Linden, it is too soon. You suffered sorely in the storm-and the horserite. You must rest. Perhaps on the morrow you will be ready for these exertions.”

Still she strove to stand. He was wrong about her: she was not physically ill. And she had slept long and warmly. She had been given treasure-berries. Her bodily weakness would pass when she began to move around.

He could have held her down, but he did not. Instead he relented; helped lift her to her feet. For a moment, she had difficulty finding her balance. Then, however, her unsteadiness receded, and she was able to stand.

But she could not stop shivering.

While she tried to reassure Liand with a smile, a small group of Ramen entered the shelter: Hami, Mahrtiir, and two or three Cords.

Stave accompanied them. As ever, she could not discern his emotional state. She saw only that he had regained his strength; and that the pain in his hip had declined.

The moisture in their hair and on their faces made her aware for the first time that the rain had not stopped. But it fell more gently now, no longer lashed by the blasts of the storm. And it had become warmer, more