Against All Things Ending (93 page)

“Then don’t blame Linden,” Covenant retorted. “Your grievance is with me, not her. And I didn’t deny you anything. I just told you what I was going to do if you refused. You could have accepted
that
cost.

“If Joan doesn’t kill us,” he promised, “you’ll get your chance to repay Linden. Or me, if you judge me the way you judge her.”

When he squinted ahead, he saw the terrain changing. Beyond the flint, sandstone and shale gathered into mounds like barrows or glacial moraines. He had the impression that huge creatures had been buried there: buried, or plowed under by warfare. But he did not try to remember the forces which had shaped that landscape. He did not want to fall into the past again.

As the horses pounded toward the mounds, the Humbled regarded him steadily. “Still you do not comprehend us, ur-Lord,” Branl observed. “It is not without cause that you have been named the Unbeliever.”

Apparently unwilling to let the matter drop, he took a different approach. “The Ardent has assured us that the Cords Bhapa and Pahni have been conveyed toward Revelstone, where they will strive to sway the Masters. But the Masters will not heed them. Cord Pahni’s desire for the Stonedownor’s resurrection is abhorrent to us. She has beseeched Linden Avery to demean his death by unmaking the outcome of his life. Thus her every word will be tainted by her craving for the Stonedownor’s humiliation, which she misnames love. No Master would hold him in such low esteem. He was courage in life. Why, then, should he be denied the courage of his death? Is that not false honor?”

Covenant rubbed his forehead again. Damnation! Branl’s pronouncements seemed to aggravate the itching of the old wound. The Humbled had misjudged Pahni: that was obvious. Was it possible that Branl and Clyme and all of the Masters were unforgiving of loss and failure because they refused to grieve? Because they equated grief with humiliation? If so, then of course their only response to bereavement would be repudiation.

But Covenant had no intention of debating Pahni with Branl and Clyme. Instead he admitted sourly, “That’s the Law.” The Law of Death. The Law of Life. By that standard, Covenant himself was inherently false. A disease upon the body of the world. “Life depends on death. But there are other things to consider.”

The severity of the Humbled ignored the wonders of the Land; the possibility of miracles.

Again Branl asked, “Ur-Lord?”

Covenant did not respond. At the boundary between flint and sandstone, the Ranyhyn veered unexpectedly to the west, guiding the destrier between them. While Covenant tried to relax in the saddle, the horses trotted to a halt at a clear spring hidden by a fold in the ground. The spring’s pool was little more than an arm span across. From there, the water flowed away along a minor gully like a scratch in the dirt. But at the sides of the slow rill, grasses grew, punctuated by a few clumps of
aliantha
.

By damn, Covenant breathed to himself. Speaking of wonders—

At once, he flung his aching body down from his mount, staggered when his boots hit the ground, caught his balance. Beside the destrier’s avid muzzle, he knelt at the edge of the pool and pushed his whole face into the water to drink.

Branl and Clyme also dismounted. While Naybahn and Mhornym drank, the Humbled scooped a little water into their mouths, then picked and ate a few treasure-berries. But the Ranyhyn appeared to disdain the grass. Moving aside, they left the Harrow’s charger to crop as much provender as it needed.

When Covenant was satisfied, he scrubbed his face in the pool, splashed water onto the back of his neck. Then he gathered and ate enough fruit to sustain him, cursing at the awkwardness of his truncated fingers. Still he said nothing. When Clyme and Branl were mounted again, he hauled his trembling muscles up into the destrier’s saddle.

Concentrate, he instructed himself. Don’t fight it. Long ago, he had ridden across the Land with Lord Mhoram, Saltheart Foamfollower, and the quest for Berek’s Staff of Law. He needed to remember how to relax in his seat. If he did not, his mount’s galloping would batter him until he felt dismembered.

As the horses began to clatter among the barrows or moraines, heading generally southeastward, he returned to the challenge of arguing with his companions.

Unable to think of a graceful way to begin, he said brusquely, “You’re both maimed. You fought long and hard to become halfhands. If I remember, you did it because you wanted to be like me.” Why else had the Humbled swallowed their judgments of Linden and Jeremiah? Why else had they accepted healing so that they could accompany him? “What does that mean to you? Why do the Masters need halfhands?”

Now it was Clyme who answered. “Unbeliever, in you we have found the highest exemplar of ourselves. More, we have found our counter to humiliation. Twice you have confronted Corruption, and twice prevailed. These are deeds which no
Haruchai
has equaled. Others who made the attempt were self-betrayed to their dooms.

“Of necessity, therefore, we have considered how it transpires that you who are weak succeed where we who are strong fail. And we have concluded that your victories rest upon a degree or quality of acceptance which once surpassed the
Haruchai.
You do not merely accept your own weakness, defying common conceptions of strength and power. You accept also the most extreme consequences of your frailty, daring even the utter ruin of the Earth in your resolve to oppose Corruption. You cling to your intent when your defeat is certain.

“In you, ur-Lord,” Clyme stated, “we have seen that such absolute acceptance of both your purpose and your weakness is mighty against all evil. We have seen the Land twice redeemed. And we aspire to the same willingness, the same triumph. Knowing that they cannot prevail, the
Haruchai
have become the Masters of the Land. For the same reason, we have won the role of the Humbled, to embody the high mission of our people. Thus we give answer to Corruption, and to all who demean us.”

Comfortable on Mhornym’s back, Branl echoed Clyme with a nod.

Inwardly Covenant winced. He saw more than one fallacy in Clyme’s argument. Obviously Clyme gave him more credit than he deserved; but there was another.

The Masters and the Humbled were still trying to
prove
themselves—and that was never going to work. Not against Lord Foul. It was the same mistake that Korik, Sill, and Doar had made: the same mistake disguised in different language. The same mistake that had caused the
Haruchai
to become the Bloodguard. Their fixation on humiliation revealed the truth.

So the whole world is going to die. Let it. Knowing that we’ve accepted the consequences of our actions is good enough for us. Nothing matters except how we feel about ourselves.

Lord Foul probably ate that kind of thinking for breakfast, and laughed his head off. No wonder he had told Linden that the Masters already served him.

But Covenant could not say such things to Clyme and Branl. Stave might understand him: the Humbled would not.

He let that one fallacy pass. For a few moments, he concentrated on trying to loosen his muscles so that his body would flex with the destrier’s movements. As he did so, however, the wrapped
krill
dug into his abdomen. With an exasperated wrench, he moved the dagger to the side of his waist. Then he set about contradicting the Humbled.

“You’re forgetting something. I’ve always had help. I never would have reached Foul’s Creche on my own. Foamfollower had to carry me.” If the
jheherrin
had not rescued him—if Foamfollower and Bannor had not distracted Elena—if a nameless woman in Morinmoss had not healed him—“And I still would have failed if Foamfollower hadn’t given me exactly what I needed,” if the last of the Unhomed had not revealed the courage, the sheer greatness of spirit, to laugh in the face of despair.

“Without Linden and the First and Pitchwife, I would never have made it to Kiril Threndor. Without Linden, I couldn’t have forced myself to hand over my ring. Without Vain and Findail, she couldn’t have created a new Staff. Without the First and Pitchwife, her Staff would have been lost.

“Sure,” Covenant rasped, “Lord Foul was defeated. Twice. But
I
didn’t do it.
We
did it. Foamfollower and I. Linden and I. The First and Pitchwife and Sunder and Hollian.

“So tell me again,” he demanded. “What’s so
wrong
about accepting gifts you haven’t earned?”

But he did not wait for an answer. “In any case,” he muttered, “dying is easy. Anybody can do it. Living is hard.”

And living was untenable without forgiveness.

In silence, Clyme and Branl conveyed the impression that they were consulting with each other. For a little while, Covenant allowed himself to hope that they had heard him; that for his sake they had lowered their defenses. But then Branl turned to him with an unmistakable glint of disapprobation in his gaze.

“Is it your belief, ur-Lord, that we must countenance humiliation? That we must subjugate ourselves to powers beyond our ken, and to choices which we have not affirmed?”

Hellfire, Covenant thought. Hellfire and bloody damnation.

“Never mind.” Swallowing his vexation, he shrugged. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Think about it another way.

“Down at the bottom, your accusation against Linden is, ‘Good cannot be accomplished by evil means.�� Breaking Laws is an evil means. Concealing her intentions is an evil means. So of course she has to be stopped. You couldn’t block the Fall she used to get to Revelstone. You couldn’t make her tell the truth about what she wanted in Andelain. You couldn’t get past Stave and Mahrtiir and the Ranyhyn when you realized what she had in mind. But I should have let you stop her when she first resurrected me.

“Well, sure,” he went on before the Humbled could respond. “That makes sense. There’s only one problem. There are
always
evil means. Nobody is ever as pure as you want them to be. You aren’t. I’m not. We all have some kind of darkness in us. So the only way to avoid evil means is to do nothing. And the only way to do nothing—to be innocent—is to be powerless,” which in effect was what the Masters had chosen for the Land. “If you have power, any kind of power at all, it always finds a way to express itself. Somehow.

“But
you
aren’t powerless.” Passion mounted in his tone. He did not try to restrain it. “Practically everything you’ve done proves it. You don’t trust how people use Earthpower—and you have good reason. So you’ve been trying to keep the Land innocent by making everybody else impotent. And you’ve succeeded. Liand was a perfect example.

“For all I know, you thought you were giving him a gift.

“That much, at least, I understand.” Covenant kept his gaze on the horizon, surveying reminders of devastation. “The first time I came to the Land, I almost turned myself inside out trying to be innocent.” After what he had done to Lena—The memory still made him cringe. “What I finally accepted wasn’t being weak, and it sure as hell wasn’t the consequences of my actions. What I accepted was evil means. Guilt. The crime of power.

“But there’s one part of all this
you
don’t seem to understand.” He was on the verge of shouting. “The thing that makes Earthpower terrible is the same thing that makes it wonderful. Even if innocence is a good thing, which I doubt, you’ve confused it with ignorance.

“That’s what’s wrong with being the Masters of the Land. You wanted to stop something terrible, so you stopped everything. Including everything that might have been wonderful. You’ve even stopped yourselves from being the kind of force that could have changed the world. And you’ve ensured nobody else changes it. Hell, you’ve subjugated
everybody
to choices they didn’t make.

“If you want to be innocent, that’s your right. But you’ve been so determined to prevent another Kevin Landwaster, you’ve closed the door on another Berek Halfhand, or another Damelon Giantfriend, or another Loric Vilesilencer.

“Hellfire.” Gradually Covenant’s vehemence subsided. The impassivity of the Humbled seemed to imply that words were useless. “Sunder and Hollian could have started a new Council of Lords. The Land could have had more Mhorams, more Prothalls, more Callindrills, more Hyrims. All you had to do was tell people what you know instead of keeping everything secret.”

Now Clyme and Branl were staring straight at Covenant; and he did not need health-sense to recognize their ire. The hearts of the
Haruchai
were tinder. Beneath their studied dispassion, anger burned like a bonfire.

“You denounce us,” Branl asserted as if he were certain of Covenant’s meaning. “Do you seek to spurn our companionship? Do you desire our enmity?”

“Hell, no!” Covenant wanted to rage at the sky in simple frustration. “I
need
you. And I respect you.” With an effort that made him ache, he restrained himself. The intransigence of the Humbled filled him with loneliness. “I know I don’t sound like it, but I respect the hell out of you. If I were in your place, I might have made different decisions a long time ago, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing I could be more like you.

“If I were, I wouldn’t be so damn terrified of my ex-wife.”

And perhaps he would have been brave enough to assure Linden that he loved her.

To his surprise, his reply appeared to content his companions. Their wrath faded as they looked away. For several moments, they rode mutely at his sides. Then Clyme asked as if he were not changing the subject, “Have you considered, ur-Lord, how you will contest your former mate? Ruled by
turiya
Herem, she wields wild magic and Falls. And we have cause to believe that she is warded by
skest
. Also we are concerned that Corruption may summon other forces to her defense.

“With the aid of the Ranyhyn—if the terrain permits—we may perhaps suffice against the
skest
. But against Falls, we cannot shield you. And we have no lore to gauge the uses of the
krill
.

“You have surrendered your rightful ring. How, then, will you oppose her?”