The Runes of the Earth: The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant - Book One (17 page)

No, not cloud, she corrected herself almost immediately: smog. It looked like
smog.
The air thickened to obscurity no more than a hundred feet below her; as dense as thunderheads. But it had the hue of pollution, the stifling and damaged shade of industrial exhaust. From the mountains behind her, it stretched as far as she could see in every direction, hiding even the base of the spire. Beneath it, where her senses could not penetrate, the Land might have become a wasteland.

And it was
wrong.
Her eyes and nose, the nerves of her face, even her tongue, were certain of that: the shrilling of her health-sense permitted no doubt. It was as vile as the Sunbane, and as pervasive, lying like cerements over slain flesh as though the vital
beauty, the very Law, which she had once given her utmost to preserve had been arrayed for burial.

I am content.
God in Heaven! What had the Despiser
done
?

Her percipience told her only that this acrid yellow shroud was an act of violence against the fundamental Law of the Land's nature. It could not reveal the smog's cause, effects, or purpose.

Instinctively she retreated into the center of the Watch; hugged her arms around her stomach to contain her distress. Now she feared the descent from Kevin's Watch in a new way. The stair was exposed, dangerous. And it would take her into that yellow shroud. Remembering the Sunbane, she believed that the eerie smog would savage her open nerves. It might hurt her so severely that she would lose her balance—

While she squirmed in alarm, however, she heard a new sound through the gentle breeze. Its susurration was punctuated by the noise of scrambling, the frantic movement of skin on stone.

Where—? She looked around quickly; saw only the clean sky and the bluff mountains and the acrid shroud.

The sound appeared to come from the stair—from someone climbing toward her.

Because she was frightened, she dropped to the stone. Then she eased forward on her belly to peer furtively through the gap in the parapet at the top of the stair.

There she heard scrambling more clearly. Hands and feet against rock: hoarse, ragged breathing.

A few heartbeats later, a head emerged from the yellow cloud.

A tangle of rank grey hair straggled to the shoulders of a torn and filthy tunic which may once have been brown. A man: she knew that at once. An old man. His hands clutching at the treads looked gnarled and bent, almost crippled. She sensed their arthritic straining as if they ached aloud. His labored breathing threatened to choke him.

He was mortally afraid. His ascent was an attempt at escape.

Linden's percipience was too sharp: she felt his difficulties too acutely. She had forgotten how to manage the sensations which inundated her. Carefully she retreated to the far edge of the Watch and sat with her back against the parapet, bracing herself for the moment when he would emerge from the gap.

What could he flee by coming here? There was no escape for either of them now.

Lifting Covenant's ring out of her shirt, she folded it in both hands as if she were praying.

With a gasp of desperation, he heaved himself over the rim of the last stair and collapsed, panting. His legs still dangled off the Watch.

The nature of his prostration told her at once that he had lost his mental balance a long time ago; had toppled into a kind of madness. And he had not eaten for days. Hunger and sorrow had taken his mind.

He reminded her of Nassic—

When she and Covenant had arrived together in the Land, they had been greeted by Sunder's father, Nassic, who had inherited a vague knowledge of the Unbeliever from a long line of half-mad hermits called Unfettered Ones. In spite of his confused grasp on events, he had done everything in his power to aid them.

A Raver had killed him for his trouble.

This old man might be in similar danger.

At once she set her own fears aside. Kneeling forward, she gripped him by his arms and pulled him fully onto the Watch. Then she crept to the gap and looked downward again, searching the shroud for anything that resembled
turiya
Herem's malice.

Still the cloud baffled her percipience; concealed its secrets.

Come on! she urged the long fall.
Try
me. I am in no mood for this!

Until now, she had been helpless to save any of Roger's victims. But Covenant's ring had power here. She was done with helplessness.

Nothing appeared out of the shroud.

Slowly she withdrew from the gap; returned her attention to the collapsed old man.

For a moment, she studied him with her health-sense, trying to determine how close he had come to death. Now that she could observe him more precisely, however, she saw that he had not exhausted his life. In fact, he possessed an astonishing resilience, in spite of his inanition. He was sustained by—

New surprise rocked her back onto her heels.

—by Earthpower.

Automatically she rubbed at her eyes, trying to sharpen her senses.

The old man was a being of some puissance. Human, undoubtedly: old, arthritic, and frail. Nevertheless an active pulse of Earthpower throbbed in his worn veins. It made her think of Hollian, who had been brought back from death by Caer-Caveral's sacrifice and the
krill
of Loric. Linden remembered her vividly as she had stood at Sunder's side, lambent with Earthpower made tangible and lovely—and mortal. Sunder himself had shared her numinous glow. Even the child in her womb had shared it.

But neither Sunder nor Hollian had been mad.

And there was something else in the old man, another ill in addition to his arthritis and his instability. When Linden first became aware of it, she could not define it. But then he groaned, stirred, and raised his head; and she saw that he was blind.

He had a face like a broken rock, all ragged edges and rough planes, softened by an old tangle of neglected beard and a patina of ingrained grime. His mouth resembled a crack in dried mud.

And above it, his eyes were the milky color of moonstone, devoid of iris or pupil. She thought at first that he suffered from cataracts; but when she looked more closely,
she realized that his sightlessness ran deeper. His mind itself appeared to have rejected vision. In some way—perhaps by Earthpower—he had blinded himself.

With the Staff of Law she might have been able to heal him. She could certainly have eased his arthritis. But with Covenant's ring? She had used its power on herself successfully. Yet she hardly knew how she had done so. And she had been guided by her instinctive awareness of her condition. For this tattered old man—

She had little experience with wild magic; was not even sure that she could call it up at will. And it was called
wild
magic for a reason: it tended always toward increase; rampant flame; chaos. After his confrontation with the Banefire, Covenant had turned his back on the use of such power. He had feared that it would tower beyond the reach of his restraint: that it would rage and grow until it shattered Time, and the Despiser was set free.

Linden's control would not be delicate enough to help the abused figure in front of her.

If he had rejected sight, he might not want to be helped.

Nevertheless she was a physician: she wished to succor him in some way, despite the desperation of her circumstances—and, apparently, of his. Putting aside the surprise of his presence, she cleared her throat, then said cautiously, “Don't try to move. You're too weak—and this place isn't exactly safe. I'm here. I'll try to help you.”

In response, he faced her with his blind eyes and broken mien. “Protect Anele.” His voice was a cracked whisper, hoarse with exhaustion, uncertain with disuse. “Protect—”

“I will,” she answered without hesitation. “I want to. I'll do what I can. But—”

Who or what was Anele?

As if she had not spoken, he moaned, “
They
search for him.
It
pursues him. Always he is pursued. If
they
take him, he will not be able to escape
it.
His last hope. Poor Anele, who has lost his birthright and harms no one. His sacred trust—” He reached one trembling hand toward her.
“Protect.”

A sound like a dusty sob escaped from his chest.

“I will,” she said again, more strongly. “You aren't alone.” She had too many questions—and he was plainly in no state to answer them. “We're in danger here. I don't trust this stone. And the only way down is the same way you came up. But I'm sure there's something I can do.”

Covenant's ring would serve her somehow.

“Power,” the old man croaked, “yes. Anele feels it. He climbed to find it.”

On his knees, he shuffled toward her, groping with his gnarled hand until he touched her arm. Then, however, his hand flinched away as if he feared to presume—or feared the sensation of contact.

“
They
search for him,” he offered abjectly, “but Anele tricks
them. They
can be tricked, a little.” Again he touched her arm, appealing to her—and flinched back. “But
it
is not tricked.
It
knows where Anele is.
It
pursues him. If
it
takes him—

“Ah!” he cried out weakly, “lost! All lost.” Another sob broke his voice. “Anele climbed high. His last trick. If
it
comes close, he will jump and die.”

His distress twisted Linden's heart. “Anele,” she responded, sure now of his name, “listen to me. I'm here. I'll do everything I can. Don't jump.”

She had already felt too much falling.

His hand fumbled toward her and away as though he feared to believe her. “Lost,” he said again. “All lost.”

“I understand,” she told him, although she did not; could not. “I'm here. Whatever happens, you aren't alone.”

He gaped at her blindly as if she were the one deranged, not he.

“But I need—” she began. Then, however, she hesitated. She hardly knew where to start. Even if he had been sane, she would not have known which question to ask first. She had to guess at the things he might be able to answer.

But she had spent years dealing with damaged minds. She had learned how to probe them gently. “You're Anele?” she inquired quietly. “That's your name?”

Begin with something concrete. Unthreatening.

He nodded as if in confirmation.

“And you have enemies?” A frail old man in his condition? “What do they want?”

What was
it
?

His white eyes stared at her. “
They
seek to catch Anele. Imprison him.
They
are terrible, terrible everywhere.
It
will take him.
They
can be tricked.
It
is not tricked.”

His reply explained nothing. She tried a different approach.

“Why does it pursue you? Why do they?”

“Ah!” Anele broke into a low wail. “His birthright. Sacred trust. Lost, failed. Anele failed. Everything, all lost.”

Apparently he was too badly hurt to answer in terms that she could comprehend. Perhaps her questions were too abstract; too far removed from his immediate plight.

“I understand,” she repeated, striving to calm him. “I'm here. I have power.” He had said as much himself. “Whoever they are—whatever it is—they have no idea what I can do.”

Then she remarked as though she felt no threat herself, “It pursues you. Is it close?”

“Yes!” he returned instantly. “Yes!” His head nodded vehemently. “
Protect
him. He must be protected!”

“Anele!” Linden spoke more sternly. “I'm
here.
” Perhaps severity would pierce his confusion. “I know you need protection. I want to help you. But I need to know. How
close
is it?
Where
is it?”

Without warning, Anele sprang to his feet. His blind eyes remained fixed on her, but his left arm gestured wildly behind him, indicating some portion of the shrouded cliff-face.

“There!”

“Now?” she asked in disbelief. Her senses had detected nothing. “It's there now?”

“Yes!” Lifting his head, he shouted into the clear sky,
“It pursues him!”
Frantically he brandished his arms at the clean sunlight. Under their dirt, they looked as brittle as dry twigs. “Poor Anele. His last trick. He will jump. He
must
!”

Then he began to weep as if he had come to the end of himself, and even the vibrant Earthpower in his veins could no longer sustain him.

At once, Linden stood as well. “Anele!” she called softly, taking hold of his shoulders so that he would not fling himself from the Watch. “Anele! Listen to me. I'm here. I'll protect you.”

A heartbeat later, however, a swirl of distortion against the mountains snagged in her peripheral vision: caught and tugged so hard that she almost staggered.

Still gripping one of Anele's shoulders, she turned her head.

God in Heaven! What's
that
?