The Runes of the Earth

Anele’s head jerked, and jerked again. “That sorrow would exceed any less enduring flesh. But this stone has more.”

His voice seemed to limp between his hands, wincing to the rhythm of words which only he could interpret.

“It speaks of the Elohim Kastenessen in his Durance, father to the malice of the merewives. His daughters are the Dancers of the Sea, and they swim the fathomless deeps in hunger and cruelty, insatiable for retribution, while their own scion is torment. Yet they know glee as well as hunger, for their father has broken his imprisonment, and at his behest the skurj which he once unwillingly restrained have unleashed their cunning and frenzy against the Land.

“And in the same breath, it speaks of the Haruchai Cail, who succumbed to the merewives and fathered their scion. He also is remembered with compassion, for only death has spared him from desolation at his son’s torment. Indeed, there is keening here on his behalf, keening and great sadness. He had been repudiated by his kindred, and his heart could not distinguish between its own yearning and the desire of the merewives. Yet that desire was not love but malice.”

Slowly Anele sank to his knees, borne down by knowledge. He kept his hands pressed over his eyes, and his head beat from side to side as if his ears were full of threnodies. His voice had become a long-breathed gasping, scarcely strong enough to sustain the sentences which the stone required of him.

“And it speaks as well of Thomas Covenant, of the white gold wielder, whose daughter rent the law of death, and whose son is abroad in the Land, seeking such havoc that the bones of mountains tremble to contemplate it. For the wielder also this stone grieves, knowing him betrayed.

“It speaks of Sunder son of Nassic, Graveler of Mithil Stonedown, who abandoned all that he had known for the sake of the wielder and the Land. Him the stone names because the son whom he brought back from death in Andelain lost the Staff of Law. In spite of this father’s valour and love, his legacy is sorrow.

“Also it names the Despiser, who is the father of woe. Yet of him the stone says little. His darkness is beyond its ken.”

Then the old man moaned again, a sound like distant winds complaining past jagged granite teeth. He began to pant heavily as if he were suffocating on words.

“And last, at the farthest extent of hearing, it speaks of Berek the Lord-Fatherer. It has not known him, for Revelstone had not been fashioned in that age, and he did not enter here. Yet he and his line prized and honoured deep rock passionately, and until the Landwaster’s Desecration all the Land’s stone knew the savour of joy.”

Abruptly he dropped his hands to the floor, crouching over them as if he could no longer support the weight of what he heard.

“More,” he panted, “Anele cannot read. A seer might spend his life in study and not hear all that this stone would tell.”

Yet he was not done. While Linden and her companions still watched him and waited, he flung up his head and turned to face her, unerring in spite of his blindness.

“You,” he gasped between ragged gulps of air. “You who promised. Anele begs-Oh, he begs of you.

“Tell him that he has not failed your need.”

Before she knew that she had moved, Linden knelt at his side, her friends and the Staff and all of the Masters forgotten. Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged him to her heart. “Oh, Anele.” Tears which she could not refuse streamed down her cheeks. “Anele.” His old body trembled in her embrace. “Of course you haven’t failed me. Dear God, no. You’ve done more than I could have asked. You always have.

“You poor man.” Releasing one hand, she brushed straggling hair out of his face. Then tenderly she kissed his forehead. “Sometimes you astonish me.”

He had told her, I am unworthy of such astonishment. But he was wrong.

If he understood her-if he remembered any of his own past-he did not show it. Gradually, however, his respiration eased, and the tension receded from his muscles. By degrees, he grew quiet in her arms.

Liand had joined her while she concentrated on the old man. When Anele was still at last, the Stonedownor helped her raise him to his feet. Carefully they supported him to the edge of the floor and seated him between Pahni and Bhapa.

Only then did Linden retrieve the Staff and return her attention to the Masters; to Handir and Stave, who had not spoken since she had asked for Anele’s help.

Shamed by what the old man had endured at her bidding, she no longer made any distinction between the two Haruchai.

“I hope you’re satisfied,” she said thinly. “I’ve had enough of this. Don’t trust us, or do. Just make up your minds. I’m done trying to convince you.”

She seemed to see nothing in Handir’s mien except denial. Yet it was not the Voice of the Masters who replied to her.

It was Stave.

Although he stood at Handir’s side as if the two of them were united against her, he gave her a deliberate bow. “You are Linden Avery the Chosen,” he began without inflection, “and we have heard you. You have said much, to your cost, and to that of your companions, and to our own. Now I will speak again.

“I have named your perilous deeds. And I have said that I fear what you may do in your son’s name. I do fear it. For such reasons the Masters withhold their trust. Yet one other matter remains unaddressed.”

Linden’s hopes seemed to gutter until she heard Stave say, “My people did not participate in the horserite which you and I have shared. I have not yet spoken of the will of the Ranyhyn.”

What-?

Suddenly she sat up straighter. Her eyes burned as she met his flat gaze. Tightening her grip on the Staff, she waited for Stave to go on.

He had told his people everything else-

“You have observed,” he remarked almost casually, “that my stance toward you was altered by the horserite. You inquired of the cause. I declined to answer. I replied only that I awaited the proper time and place to speak. Both now are upon me.”

Still he spoke to Linden as though his words were meant for her alone. She could only stare at him in mute surprise as he continued.

“When the Ranyhyn Hynyn and Hyn had borne us to the vale and the eldritch tarn of their ancient gathering place, I avowed that I would not take part in their mind-blending rituals.”

She remembered his refusal vividly. I am Haruchai. We have no need of horserites.

“You sought there to humble me,” he said, “as you have done here as well. Yet your words persuaded me when I did not wish to be swayed.

“You spoke of the time which followed Kelenbhrabanal’s failure to redeem the Ranyhyn from Fangthane’s depredations. And you reminded me that the great horses were restored to the Land, not by Lords or Bloodguard, or by any great power.”

Facing Linden, but clearly speaking for the benefit of the other Masters, Stave explained the point which she had made.

“Rather their return to the Plains of Ra was made possible by the Ramen. You spoke of `the plain, selfless devotion of ordinary men and women: And you averred that the Ranyhyn endeavoured to make this known as a warning, so that such men as we are would not conceive that we must redeem the Land through any form of Mastery. To do so, you suggested, would be to repeat the folly of High Lord Elena, and perhaps of Kevin Landwaster and Kelenbhrabanal as well.”

Stave paused as if to consult his memories; to assure himself that he had described her argument fairly. Then he lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug and went on.

“Also you observed that both the form and the substance of the horserite offered a warning which I must not ignore. Therefore I consented to the will of the Ranyhyn. With you I partook of their dark waters, and was transformed.”

Linden nodded, although he had not asked for her confirmation. Intent on him, she listened, unable to turn away.