The Runes of the Earth

She had entered a region of time and place where she had never been before.

Stave would tell her what he knew, if she asked him; but she did not. Instead she set the question aside temporarily. Other concerns compelled her attention.

Clenching her teeth against the aftereffects of the Fall, she turned to her companions.

Stave and Anele were essentially well, but the Ramen and Liand were another matter. Of them all, only the Manethrall had been able to stand; and he could no longer do so. Now he sat with his back to his companions a short distance away, hugging himself and rocking back and forth like a battered child.

Pahni sprawled where she had first fallen, too shocked to move. Bhapa had crawled a few paces from his vomit: he lay curled into a ball around the memory of his pain. And Liand was in little better condition. His momentary contact with the Sunbane’s residue had cost him the last of his endurance. He had collapsed supine with his hands over his face, panting softly.

The fact that Linden could remain upright testified to the dark lore and blood of the ur-viles. Their power had protected her from the worst of the caesure.

Remembering that the loremaster had cut her, she glanced down at her hand and saw that the small wound had already closed. No, more than that: it had sealed completely, leaving behind nothing more than a faint scar to mark what the ur-viles had done for her.

At one time, they had been the bitter enemies of the Land. Now their desire to serve her was beyond question.

Unfortunately her companions had not received the same eldritch gift. Apart from Stave and Anele, they were in no condition to go on. They needed rest, perhaps hours of it. And aliantha, if she could find any-and if they could force themselves to swallow it.

Hurtloam would restore them, of course. Or the Staff of Law. In this time and place, she might as well have asked for Covenant’s resurrection.

But the ur-viles might be able to provide vitrim. If they had not exhausted themselves-

Even after all that they had done for her, she felt strangely reluctant to approach them; timid in the face of their bestial forms and their black past. Nevertheless she walked cautiously toward the loremaster.

The creatures stopped their low barking as she approached. They turned their faces toward her, sniffing wetly. Their ears twitched. The thin slits of their mouths looked as cruel as cuts.

A few paces from the loremaster, she halted. Staring at the creature’s forehead to avoid the sight of its wide nostrils, she said uncomfortably, “I hate doing this. It feels disrespectful. I can ask you for help, and you can’t even tell me how to thank you. You certainly can’t ask me for anything. And you’ve already done so much-”

Then she admitted, “But Stave is right. Everything we do here is dangerous. And the longer we stay, the more dangerous it becomes. We should get started, but we can’t. Liand and the Ramen are too sick to ride.”

In response, the loremaster made a gesture that she could not interpret. Her health-sense told her nothing except that the creature was alien to her; beyond explication.

Then, however, the loremaster wove its hands as though in invocation; muttered a few guttural sounds which seemed to hang in the air, telic and oddly resonant. Almost at once, an iron bowl as black as obsidian took form in its palms, apparently transubstantiated from within the creature’s flesh.

The bowl held a fluid that gave off the musty aroma of vitrim.

Because she was touched and did not know how else to express her gratitude, Linden sank to her knees in order to accept the bowl from the loremaster’s hands.

The ur-viles spoke in unison, barking a response which told her nothing. The raw sound could have been a curse or a paean-or a warning.

Again they had given her what she needed. Their dark liquid sang to her senses of concentrated restoration. Struggling unsteadily to her feet, she carried the bowl to the nearest of her companions, the Manethrall, and offered it to his lips.

Mahrtiir did not hesitate. His need was great; and his discernment was as keen as Linden’s. Accepting the vitrim, he sipped it carefully.

Its effect was swift. Between one heartbeat and the next, new strength burgeoned in him. The pain was swept from his muscles, and his nausea faded. He seemed to rise up within himself, although he remained seated, hardly able to credit his own recovery.

In a voice still husky with strain, he urged Linden, “Aid the Cords. And the Stonedownor.”

He did not need to add, And yourself.

She ached for some of the roborant. The Fall’s effects clung to her still, aggravating old memories of the Sunbane and loss. But her companions took precedence.

From Mahrtiir, she went to kneel beside Pahni.

The young woman could not raise her head. The bile in her guts threatened to overflow at any moment; and her muscles hung slack along her bones, stretched past exhaustion. But Stave joined Linden then, supporting Pahni so that Sahah’s cousin could take a mouthful of vitrim.

When Pahni had tasted the dusky fluid, Linden and Stave turned to assist Bhapa.

By then Liand had seen what was happening. Still cradling his aggrieved stomach, he crept to the older Cord’s side. He had his own memories of vitrim.

Soon both he and Bhapa were on their feet, with Pahni beside them. They did not stand easily, but Linden saw that their recovery would not take long. Doubtless they would be ready to ride before she was.

Finally she allowed herself to drink from the bowl.

As before, the heavy liquid had a neglected flavour, as if it had been left too long in a lightless room, exposed to dust and stagnation. Yet she swallowed it gladly; and in moments, the caesure’s brutality lost its hold on her, dropping from her shoulders like a shed cloak. The vitrim seemed to expand the boundaries of her mortality. When she returned the bowl to the loremaster, her steps no longer wavered, and her bow of thanks was as deep as an obeisance.

Then at last she turned to Stave; to the only member of her company who may have wished her to fail. She could no longer postpone the larger concerns of her situation.

She had too many fears. She might still be days away from Anele’s lost cave. The Staff of Law may have been found and moved-and used-since Anele’s departure. She may not have arrived at the right time to retrieve it. And any significant alternation of the past might violate the integrity of Time.

She believed that the Law of Time was sturdy enough to withstand an occasional shock. How else had it endured the affront of Joan’s attacks? And she believed as well that the mere existence of the Staff would have a sustaining influence on all Law. Surely she could search for it without inflicting any irreparable harm?

Still she wanted some form of reassurance.

Covenant had told her, You need the Staff of Law. But he had also said, Just be wary of me. Remember that I’m dead.

And somewhere millennia from now an Elohim wandered the Earth, warning people to Beware the halfhand.

“All right,” she said to the Master. “I’m ready now. You said you know where we are?”

He nodded. “Indeed. We stand among the South Plains. The Southron Range rises before us. The mountains to the east form the western bound of the Mithil valley. Many leagues to the west lies Doom’s Retreat. And there”- he pointed across the foothills toward the curving line of scarps and slopes where the spur met the southwestward sweep of the Range- “we will be able to ascend toward the region where I judge that the old man once made his home.”

Clearly caesures traversed distance as well as time: Linden had seen them move. Indeed, she was fortunate that the Fall had not carried her farther from her goal during the intervening centuries.

Studying the mountains, she asked, “How far do you think we have to go?”

Stave glanced at the sun. “We will be among the heights before midday. There, however, the way may become too difficult for riding. Beyond that-” He shrugged.

Linden understood him: he did not know the location of Anele’s cave. But surely it would be somewhere accessible? While Ramen and ur-viles battled kresh in the rift, Anele had said that his dwelling was not so distant from Mithil Stonedown that I could not hasten to the Land’s aid at need,