the people of my home, and perhaps all the folk of the Land, to the meaning of their lives.”
The lament in his words touched Linden. “Maybe there’s something I can do about that,” she said grimly. “This is the Staff of Law, for God’s sake.” She held its reassuring clarity close to her heart. “Once I’ve slept for a while,” and had some food, “I intend to find out just how powerful Kevin’s Dirt is.”
Liand replied with a dark grin of anticipation. In the brief time that she had known him, he had become a man who wanted to fight; to strike blows in the Land’s defence, although he had no power, and could not hope to stand against Lord Foul.
The change in him affected her like the Mahdoubt’s strange aura. She had relied on his protection from the first. And in turn she ached to protect him. But she did not know how.
She and Liand shared the contents of the Mahdoubt’s tray in silence. His desire for talk was palpable; yet tact or empathy kept him quiet. Wordlessly he seemed to recognise that Linden needed to be left in peace.
She valued his consideration. For the most part, however, her thoughts had shifted, leaving him in the background. Galt had evoked memories which she was too weary to suppress. With the last of her waning strength, she clung to images of Jeremiah, and tried to think clearly.
Years before she had met him, Thomas Covenant had once refused the Land for the sake of a snake-bitten girl. Linden understood his decision. She would do the same for Jeremiah, if she could find no other way to save him. But in his place the Masters would not have made the same choice. For them, the Land’s peril would outweigh the suffering of one lost child.
She knew, however, that she was not being fair to them. Her situation, and theirs, differed from Covenant’s in one important respect. He had refused the Land’s distant plight for the sake of a child in immediate peril. For Linden and the Masters, the immediate peril was the Land’s: the distant plight, Jeremiah’s.
She could not use Covenant’s example to explain or excuse her decisions.
At last, Liand rose to his feet and announced that he would leave: he must have been able to see that she was about to fall asleep in her chair. She thanked him wanly and let him go.
Trapped in her thoughts, she had not realised how badly she wanted sleep.
But possible horrors followed her into the bedroom. When she had unwrapped the towels and stretched herself out among the rough blankets, she feared that she would not be able to relax. Then she feared that she would, and that ghouls would ride her dreams, tormenting her with sorrow.
Rising to use the bathroom a short time later, however, she found that the daylight filtering through the shutters over her window had become darkness, and the fire in her hearth had died to embers. Somehow night had fallen without her notice.
And in her front room a tray mounded with food had replaced the one which she and Liand had emptied. The Mahdoubt must have slipped into her quarters while she slept.
Linden had forgotten to latch the door when Liand left.
Nevertheless this evidence of the older woman’s care released knots of tension in her. The Mahdoubt’s kindliness seemed to dismiss nightmares and doom.
Hardly aware of what she did, Linden set the latch, tossed more wood into the fireplace, and extinguished all but one of the lamps. Then she toppled like a felled tree back into bed and slept again.
Chapter Eleven: The Masters of the Land
Later she heard Covenant calling her name. “Linden,” he said, and again, “Linden,” insistently, warning her of imminent danger. She knew that she ought to heed him, rouse herself; make choices which her companions could not gainsay or refuse. But instead she endeavoured not to hear him, thinking that if she could make herself deaf he would go away. Perhaps he would cease to exist, and then all of her woes would end at last.
Nevertheless he continued to insist. For reasons which she could not explain, he shone a flashlight into her eyes. He commanded an illumination which pierced her, made her squirm.
A muted thudding accompanied it, a sound like the distant drumbeat which heralded the collapse of worlds.
But when she tried to blink away the dazzle and coercion, she found herself squinting into a fine slit of sunlight which struck her face between the slats of the shutter above her bed. The voice intruding on her dreams was Liand’s, not Covenant’s: less strict than Covenant’s; and anxious for her. At intervals, he knocked on her door, attempting to urge her awake.
With a groan, Linden hauled herself out of bed.
How long had she slept? She had no idea. She felt sodden with sleep, waterlogged with dreams: she had soaked up too much rest to reach wakefulness easily.
“Coming,” she muttered, although she knew that her muffled voice would not be heard through the heavy door. “Damn it, I’m coming. Let me get some clothes on.”
Even in the worst emergencies, her former life had not required her to leave home without clothes.
By the time she had pulled on her jeans, however, and buttoned her shirt, the familiar urgency of sudden awakenings had caught up with her. God, what could have happened? Had the Demondim broken into Revelstone?
Why had they taken so long? They had the Illearth Stone-
Still barefoot, she padded to the door and opened it on Liand’s concern and Galt’s impassivity.
“What?” Her voice was rough with alarm. “What is it?”
Then she stopped, silenced by the abrupt realisation that her health-sense was now entirely gone. She could not discern the extent or nature of Liand’s concern. The polished stone of the Keep was closed to her, lifeless as a sepulchre.
Although she had expected the loss, it hurt her nonetheless.
“Linden,” the Stonedownor murmured as if he were embarrassed. “I crave your pardon. I was loath to awaken you, but the Master would have done so if I did not. The Voice of the Masters has summoned you. The time has come to speak of Anele’s imprisonment”- he dropped his gaze uncomfortably- “and of other matters.”
She waved a hand to dismiss his apology. “Don’t worry about it.” She could not afford to grieve over the effects of Kevin’s Dirt. “I should have been awake hours ago.”
How had she slept so long? She would not have believed that her fears and frustrations would allow her to rest so deeply.
Turning to the Humbled, she asked, “What are the Demondim doing? Are we under attack?”
Without her health-sense, she would not have known it if the Vile-spawn had torn down the watchtower and shattered the gates.
Galt regarded her without expression. “It is strange, Chosen,” he admitted as though the information did not interest him. “Yesterday they arrayed themselves as they would in preparation for a siege. During the night, however, they withdrew. There is now no sign of them within sight of Lord’s Keep. Scouts have been sent to determine if they have truly abandoned their intent against us. Those Masters have not yet returned.”
Linden stared at him. “They’re gone? Is that even possible?” The horde had seemed so single-minded in its hunger for bloodshed. “Kevin’s Dirt doesn’t affect you. Do you mean to tell me that you can’t even sense the Illearth Stone?”
What had Anele’s possessor said to the Demondim? What did that fiery being want? And why were its desires heeded by the Demondim?
Galt faced her steadily. “It is as I have said. There is now no sign of them. Our scouts have not yet returned.”
Well, damn, Linden thought dumbly. She might be able to leave Revelstone after all. As soon as she had persuaded the Masters to release Anele, she could gather her companions and head for Mount Thunder, following the hints which Jeremiah had constructed for her.
As soon as she had persuaded-
