The Runes of the Earth

their community. Surely unbalanced mothers and fathers would not have thrust, not just their own hands, but the hands of their children as well into the flames if their destitution had not been neglected by the more stable souls around them? Surely those wounded men and women would have eschewed such violence if they had been offered any other recourse? No matter how many demented preachers urged them to fanaticism? Listening to children in cruel pain sob through the night taught the well-meaning people of the county to desire some form of prevention.

Yet this sense of communal guilt ran deeper than most people would acknowledge. On some level, the entire county understood that the terrible events leading to Covenant’s murder would never have happened if he had not been shunned and execrated, forced into the traditional role of the outcast, the pariah. He had been, inexplicably, a leper: he had what the doctors called a “primary” case of Hansen’s disease, one with no known etiology. Such cases were rare, even by the standards of an illness as rare as leprosy, but they occurred often enough to suggest the wrath of God; punishment for sins so vile that they sickened the sinner.

Viscerally frightened and full of loathing, people had spurned Thomas Covenant as if he were a carrier of corruption. For over a decade, he had occupied Haven Farm on sufferance: seeing no one, never coming to town, avoided by his neighbours; occasionally harassed by the county sheriff, Barton Lytton; uncomfortably tolerated by his own lawyer, Megan Roman; befriended only by Julius Berenford, then chief of staff at County Hospital. Indeed, the county’s repugnance for Covenant’s illness would have driven him into exile if he had not once saved the life of a snake-bitten girl. In addition, however, he made significant contributions to the care of the county’s indigents- money which he earned by writing novels about guilt and power. In effect, he had supported the very people who brought about his death: the same people, presumably, who had driven his ex-wife mad. Therefore he was tolerated.

Then he was gone, irretrievable, leaving only Joan and Linden behind.

Dr. Berenford believed that he had been too silent while Covenant lived. Afterward he raised his voice. Impelled by her own regrets, Megan Roman acted on his words. And the voters and politicians of the county felt more responsible than they cared to admit. They lobbied the state legislature: they passed mill levies: they applied for grants.

Eventually they built Berenford Memorial Psychiatric Hospital, named for Julius when he had slipped away in his sleep one night five years ago. And they appointed Linden as Berenford Memorial’s CMO. She was the only one among them who had accompanied Covenant to his last crisis.

Now she presided over a small facility of twenty beds, all in private rooms. Her staff included five nurses, five orderlies, one janitor, one maintenance man, and a coterie of part-time secretaries, in addition to volunteers like Maxine Dubroff. Berenford Memorial had two psychiatrists on call. And one physician-herself- with a background in emergency-room medicine and family practice: trauma, triage, and pink eye.

From the lobby, she guided Covenant’s son upstairs to the “acute care” wing: ten beds devoted to patients who were inclined to injure themselves, assault the staff, or run away at random opportunities. Instead of proceeding to loan’s room, however, she paused at the top of the stairs and turned to face Roger.

“A moment, if you don’t mind, Mr. Covenant. May I ask you a question?” When he had seen his mother, he might not give her another chance. “The more I think about it, the less I understand why you’re here.”

Again his smile seemed merely reflexive. “What is there to understand? She’s my mother. Why wouldn’t I want to see her?”

“Of course,” Linden countered. “But what inspired your desire to take care of her? That’s not as common as you might think. Frankly, it sounds a little”- the term she wished to use was de trop, existentially dislocated- “daunting.”

In response, Roger’s manner seemed to sharpen. “The last time I saw her,” he replied precisely, “she told me that if she failed I would need to take her place. Until yesterday I didn’t have the resources to do that.”

Involuntarily Linden caught her breath as the bottom of her stomach seemed to fall away. “Failed at what?”

Long ago, Joan had sought out Thomas Covenant-no, not sought out, she had been sent- in order to teach him despair. Despite her terrible plight, however, and her thirst for his blood, she had failed absolutely.

“Isn’t that obvious?” Covenant’s son returned. “She’s here, isn’t she? Wouldn’t you call that failure?”

No. For a moment, Linden’s heart quailed. Memories beat about her head like wings: she felt harried by furies.

Her face must have betrayed her chagrin. Solicitously, Roger reached out to touch her arm. “Dr. Avery, are you all right?” Then he dropped his hand. “I really think you should let me take her. It would be better for everyone.”

Even you, he seemed to say. Especially you.

Take her place.

Ten years ago, empowered by all of those hands thrust into the flames, all of that ceded pain, as well as by the fatal rush of Thomas Covenant’s blood, a bitter malevolence had pierced the reality of Linden’s life. It had drawn her in Covenant’s wake to another place, another dimension of existence. The psychiatrists on call at Berenford Memorial would have called it a “psychotic episode”- an extended psychotic episode. With Covenant, she had been summoned to a realm known as the Land, where she had been immersed in evil until she was altered almost beyond recognition. During the black hours of that one night, before Julius Berenford had found her with Covenant’s body, she had somehow spent several months outside-or deep within- herself, striving to win free of her own weakness and the legacy of her parents in order to preserve the beauty of a world which had never been meant for corruption.

Now Roger’s words seemed to suggest that she would have to face it all again.

No. Shuddering, she came back to herself. It was impossible. She was flinching at shadows, echoes. Roger’s father was dead. There would be no second summons for her. The Land was Thomas Covenant’s doom, not hers. He had given his life for it, as he had for Joan, and so its enemy, the dark being known variously as a- Jeroth, the Grey Slayer, and Lord Foul the Despiser, had been defeated.

Trusting in that, Linden set aside her alarm and faced Covenant’s son.

Roger’s implied threat she ignored. Instead she asked, “What do you mean, you have the “resources” to take her place?”

“It’s simple,” Roger replied. He seemed to misunderstand her without being aware of it. “I’m twenty-one now. I’m of age. Yesterday I inherited my father’s legacy.

“Of course,” he explained as if Linden might have forgotten, “he left everything to my mother. Haven Farm. His royalties. But she was declared incompetent when she was committed here. Ms. Roman-you know her, my father’s lawyer-has been trustee of the estate. But now it’s all mine.” His smile hinted at self-satisfaction. “Once I’ve persuaded you to release her, she and I will live on Haven Farm.

“She’ll like that. She and my father were happy there.”

Linden swallowed a groan. Thomas and Joan Covenant had lived on Haven Farm until his leprosy had been diagnosed. Then she had left him, abandoned him; divorced him to protect their son from his illness. No doubt she had believed that she was doing the right thing. Nevertheless the knowledge of her own frailty-the awareness that she had broken her vows when her husband had needed her most-had given the Despiser a foothold in her soul. Her shame was fertile soil for the seeds of despair and madness.

And when she had been deprived of every conscious impulse except the desire to taste her ex-husband’s blood, Covenant had cared for her on Haven Farm until the end. The idea that Joan would “like” living there again nearly brought tears to Linden’s eyes.

And Roger had not answered her real question.

“That isn’t what I meant,” she insisted thickly. “You said she told you to take her place if she failed. Now you have the resources do that.”

“Did I?” His smile remained expressionless. “You must have misheard me. Now I can take your place, Dr. Avery. I have enough money to care for her. We have a home. I can afford all the help I need.

“She isn’t the only one who failed.”

Linden frowned to conceal a wince. She herself had failed Joan: she knew that. She failed all her patients. But she also knew that her failure was beside the point. It did nothing to diminish the value or the necessity of her