The Runes of the Earth

Eagerly Linden rose to meet the Staff. When the creature placed it in her grasp, she felt a rush of warmth from the wood. Its possibilities flowed into her like heat. At the same time, she was filled with memories of Andelain: of hillsides as lush as lawns bedizened with wildflowers and aliantha; of the proud outstretched health of Gilden trees with their wreaths of golden leaves thick about them; of small streams, and groves of oak, and swaths of briar-rose, all vibrant with Earthpower.

She felt that she was remembering the Land as it had once existed in the mind of its Creator, before Lord Foul was imprisoned within the Arch of Time; before Foul had corrupted the Land with hidden banes like the Illearth Stone, and had gained the service of fell beings like the Ravers. And she tasted as well the Creator’s grief. Having created the Arch, the structure of beginning and end which allowed life to exist, the Creator could not alter events within that structure without violating it. Therefore Lord Foul’s imprisonment itself gave him the freedom to destroy what the Creator had made.

Such treasures as the Staff of Law had been brought into being so that the inhabitants of the Land would have the means to oppose Lord Foul themselves; to fight for the intended beauty of the world.

For a moment, at least, while she held the Staff for the first time in many years, Linden felt equal to her enormous task. Unlike Covenant’s ring, the Staff suited her. She understood its uses instinctively; trusted herself with it. Its natural rightness seemed to send healing into every cell and impulse of her being.

She did not realise that she was weeping until she thought to thank the Waynhim and discovered that she could see nothing clearly. Tears blurred her gaze, turning the light to streaks of consolation, and confusing the definition of the figures around her.

When she blinked the tears from her eyes, however, she found that the Staff’s guardian no longer stood before her. The creature had stepped back, making way for Anele.

The old man faced her with his hands poised near the Staff as though he meant to wrest it from her grasp.

Liand and Mahrtiir hovered behind him, waiting to see what he would do; ready to intervene. But they were visibly reluctant to disturb him.

Anele’s hands trembled as he studied the Staff, and his blind gaze seemed to ache with yearning. How many decades had passed since he had last stood in the presence of his birthright? How much recrimination and self-loathing had he suffered before he had fallen into madness?

The touch of the Staff might heal him as well.

Yet he did not close his hands on the immaculate wood; did not so much as brush it with his fingertips. Instead he stood motionless while Linden grieved for him and the entire chamber seemed to hold its breath. Then, trembling, he lowered his arms.

In a small voice, he murmured unsteadily, “I am unworthy of such astonishment. The day has not yet come when I may be whole.” His throat closed on a sob. When he had swallowed it, he whispered, “Until that time, I must remain as I am.

“Do not mourn for me.” The effort of renunciation left him desolate. “Know that I am content to behold the Staff in your care.”

Then he turned away and hid his face in his hands.

Liand’s eyes were damp as he watched the old man. Mahrtiir scowled fiercely, too proud for sadness; but his manner was gentle as he guided Anele back to his seat and offered vitrim to his lips.

For a while, Linden could not stop her tears. The day has not yet come-She believed him: there was no falsehood in him. But the thought that he needed to remain as he was hurt her more than she could express. With the Staff, she possessed the power to impose any healing that he might require. Yet he refused her. He was not ready-or his circumstances were not.

“Linden,” asked Liand softly, “will you heed his desire for forbearance? Your weariness is extreme, but surely it does not outweigh his suffering?”

Hugging the Staff of Law to her chest, Linden cast her health-sense deeply into the old man, as she had done once before in the Verge of Wandering: again she sought the means to succour him. But he had changed in more ways than one. The same yearning or compulsion which had brought him close to sanity had also galvanised his native puissance. She would have to force her way past powerful defences in order to reach him.

That violence might do him harm that she could not repair.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Look at him,” she told Liand. “He’s choosing to be this way.” His madness, like his blindness, was necessary to him still. “If I try to heal him, he’ll fight me. And maybe he’s right. He certainly has the right.”

And she had neither the wisdom nor the arrogance to make his decisions for him.

After a moment, Liand answered sadly, “I see what you see, though it baffles me. Perhaps he must determine the time and place of his healing.” Then the Stonedownor asked in a tone of pleading, “What does he desire, if not the Staff which he lost?”

“You heard him,” Linden sighed. “He needs to believe in himself. He still thinks he’s unworthy.”

Grieving, she returned to her seat on the stone ledge. Anele had assured her that he was content. And she, too, needed healing. Her tasks were far from complete. She still had to return to her proper time, and could not do so without entering a caesure. But her first experience had nearly destroyed her. Until she became stronger, she would not be able to endure a second.

And Esmer had warned her of betrayals- The Waynhim are valiant, he had said, and too many of them will perish if you do not contrive their salvation. He had brought with him or elicited some peril when he had appeared in this time. Now she and her companions as well as the Ranyhyn were in danger.

Fervidly she clung to the smooth wood of the Staff for comfort. When she had settled herself on the ledge, she drank a few swallows of the musty vitrim and let its potency carry the Staff’s warmth like chrism into the depths of her weariness.

She had rested there for only a short time, however, when Stave and Esmer approached her together. Animosity bristled between them, yet they were momentarily united in their resolve to question her.

Holding the Staff across her lap, she looked into the shifting green of Esmer’s gaze and the steady brown of Stave’s, and waited wearily for them to speak.

“What will you do,” Esmer demanded abruptly, “now that you have obtained your desire? It appears that you are indeed the Chosen, for the Demondim-spawn have chosen you. Perhaps they are not alone in their selection. Will you now cease to be the Wildwielder, setting aside white gold that you may dedicate yourself to the service of Law? If you do so, how will you return to your proper time? And if you do not, how will you bear the burden of such powers?

“Either alone will transcend your strength, as they would that of any mortal. Together they will wreak only madness, for wild magic defies all Law. That is its power and its peril.

“You must declare yourself, so that I”- he caught himself- ”so that all those here may find their own paths.”

He did not need to ask, If you set aside the ring, who will take it up? That question was implicit in every line of his face.

He may have wished to possess Covenant’s ring himself.

While Esmer spoke, Stave stepped aside as if to dissociate himself from his antagonist’s demand. But when Esmer was finished, the Master said, “I also ask this. We must not remain in this time. The hazard is too great. And you must not wield both wild magic and Law, lest you be torn asunder.

“Therefore I ask it. What is your intent?”

Linden considered both men through a blur of fatigue. Stave remained suspicious of her, she was sure of that. Yet she trusted him. Esmer, on the other hand-

Deliberately she turned to Mahrtiir and Liand.

“This depends on you,” she told the Manethrall carefully, “at least to some extent. I already know what Liand will say. And Anele needs to stay near the Staff. But I haven’t asked you.

“Do you want to go back to your people? It should be possible.” Once she had created a Fall, the Ranyhyn