The Runes of the Earth: The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant - Book One (32 page)

But it stood on the far side of the Mithil. And as the watercourse neared the head of
the valley, it gathered into a crooked ravine tending somewhat east of south: too ragged and sheer to climb; too wide to cross. Then, at the base of the nearest cliff, it sprang up into a waterfall which thundered from a damp cut high and unattainable in the rock face.

The rift might as well have been on the dark side of the moon.

“Great,” Linden muttered in disappointment. “How can we get there? The last I checked, none of us can actually fly.”

“It will not be difficult.” Lifting his head, Liand indicated the waterfall. “That fall we name the Mithil's Plunge. For a portion of its way, it pours beyond the cliff, and there we may pass behind it. We must take care that Somo does not slip, but we will be able to do so.

“Certainly the Masters know of this, as I do. But mayhap they will not readily notice my absence from Mithil Stonedown. I am only a young man whom they tolerate, not a valued companion. And if they do not guess that I accompany you, they may not pursue you there, believing that you have no knowledge of it.”

Linden nodded. “Good.” So it was possible: she still had a chance.

But the young man's answer brought her back to another question. What in hell was he
doing
here? He was risking more than the disapproval of the Masters; far more than he knew. She could not accept his help simply because he chose to offer it.

Frowning, she waited until he turned to face her. Then, more harshly than she intended, she said, “But before we go any farther, you have some explaining to do.”

His eyes widened in surprise.

“Where do you get this ‘we' stuff, Liand?” Because she was afraid and unsure, and could not afford to be, she sounded angry. “What are you doing here? Why aren't you defending Mithil Stonedown, where you belong?”

The young man swallowed uncomfortably, but did not drop her gaze. “Would you have been able to save your companion without my aid?”

“That's not the point. Of course I would have saved him. I can swim, for God's sake.”

“And will you save him now?” countered Liand. “You are able to gain the mountains, but how will you feed him among the rocks? How will you feed yourself? Can you bear the cold of the peaks?”

Linden scowled at him. “Oh, hell. You know I can't. I didn't exactly plan any of this. I just—” She knotted her fists to contain her frustration. “I just can't do anything for my son while I'm a prisoner.”

Liand indicated bundles tied to his saddle. “Then it is well that I have given the matter forethought which you could not. Here I have food and waterskins. Robes and blankets. Rope.

“Somo alone enhances your flight.” Apparently Somo was the mustang. “I have done much to provide for your escape. All that I can.”

His eyes begged her to accept him.

“But—” With an effort, Linden restrained her impulse to swear at him. His manifest sincerity did not deserve it. “But,” she said more quietly, “that's still beside the point. Obviously I need any help I can get. But your people need you, too. They were fighting for their lives when I ran. How could you leave them?”

Her demand increased his discomfort. For a moment, he looked away toward the mountains as if he were measuring himself against them. When he met her gaze again, the sunlight on his face exposed the difficulties within him.

Nevertheless he faced her squarely.

“At first I did not,” he admitted. He had set his impatience aside. “You know this. I ran to the defense of the Stonedown, thinking that we were assailed by
kresh
in the storm. But the Masters halted us, saying that there were no
kresh,
that only the storm itself threatened us.

“Against that power we could do nothing. And it struck no one. For reasons which I do not grasp, the storm's violence harmed only our homes. Indeed, it fell only upon those homes which had been left empty. Their families were at work in the fields, or attending other concerns. And the Masters assured us that no lives had been lost—that none would be lost if we did not approach the storm.

“How they had gained their knowledge, I do not know. But I believed them. And I thought of you, Linden Avery.”

Homes which had been left empty? She frowned to herself. It made no sense. Why would any foe wish to damage empty dwellings?

“I considered your need for escape,” Liand continued, “and my desire to aid you. Then I stole away. Leaving the Masters and my people to regard the storm, I hastened to the stables for a mount. Gathering all that I could to assist your flight, I rode in search of you.”

Linden studied him, trying to understand. “All right. I get that.” She could read the nature of his emotions readily enough, but not their content, their causes. “But why did you head south?”

He had found her too easily.

The Stonedownor shrugged. “You had no mount. If you sought escape northward, the Masters would shortly ride you down, and no aid of mine would free you.

“Also,” he added a bit sheepishly, “the storm lay there, and I feared to hazard it.”

Perhaps his reply should have eased her anxiety. The
Haruchai
might not reason as he did. Surely they did not remember her as a woman who fled from eldritch storms?

Yet her trepidation increased as she considered the young man. The Masters had deprived him of a kind of birthright: he lived in the Land, but knew nothing of its power or peril. His desire to join her would have consequences beyond his comprehension.

Gritting her courage, she placed one hand like an appeal, a hint of exigency, on his thigh.

“That's not enough, Liand. You still haven't answered my question. Not really. Mithil Stonedown is your home.” It was all he had ever known. “Everyone and everything you've ever cared about is there. Why do you want to risk all that for me?”

He did not hesitate. To this extent, at least, he was prepared for her questions.

“Linden Avery,” he replied gravely, “I might answer that I find no satisfaction in the life of my home. I sense the greatness of the Land, but I know nothing of it, and I crave such knowledge.

“Or I might answer that I mistrust the Masters, for it is plain that their knowledge is great, yet they reveal nothing.

“Or I might answer that I have no family or attachments to hold me.” His tone hinted at loneliness. “My father and mother had no other children, and both have fallen to time and mischance in recent years. Nor have I found other loves to fill their place in my heart.”

Again he looked away. When he faced Linden once more, his yearning had found its way to the surface. Stiffly he told her, “I might well answer so, for it is sooth.” Then he appeared to lose resolve. Ducking his head, he murmured awkwardly, “Yet there is another truth, of which I do not presume to speak.”

She nearly turned away from his discomfort. It was too obvious: his open nature held no concealment. And she could so easily have let the matter drop—

Yet she did not release him, in spite of his vulnerability. She had her own qualms, her own conscience: she could not set them aside merely to gain aid from a man who could not imagine what his assistance might cost him.

Roughly she knotted her fingers in the rough wool of his leggings. “I'm sorry. That's still not enough. You have friends and neighbors who feel the same way, you must have, but they aren't here. I need to hear the rest.

“I can see it in you. I just don't know what it means.”

Liand appeared to groan inwardly. However, it was not in his nature to refuse her probing, regardless of his own unease. And he had a palpable courage which enabled him to tell the truth.

“In my life,” he said, “I have beheld wonders.” The words seemed to come slowly from deep within him. “Linden Avery, you are one. The storm which provided for your escape is another. The Falls are both wondrous and dire. And the sight from Kevin's Watch of the shroud which blinds the Land fills my dreams with fear.

“But it is the memory of the strange being whom the Masters named
Elohim
which impels me to your side. His words are a knell within me, though I was but a child when I heard them.

“All that he said lies beyond my ken. Yet I comprehend clearly that he has prophesied our doom. And I grasp also that he did not speak only of Mithil Stonedown. His words pronounced the destruction of the Land.”

The angle of the sunlight filled Liand's eyes with shadows as he gazed down at Linden. “I am as I appear to be, merely a young man among my people. But I have seen that the Land is lovely. I wish to defend it. And if I am too small for so great a task, still I will not be content until I have learned the name of our doom.”

Now he did not look away. She wished that he would. His undefended innocence wrung her heart, and she did not want to witness his reaction when she answered him.

Quietly, almost whispering, she said, “Liand, listen to me.” Her fingers tugged at his leggings of their own accord, urging him to understand her. “I can't let you help me unless you hear what I have to say.

“You called me a wonder, but there's nothing wonderful about me. I love the Land. I love my son.” In spite of her bereavement, she loved Thomas Covenant. “I try to keep my promises. And I'm carrying a power I don't know how to use. That's all there is.”

Grimly she spared herself nothing. “But it's worse than that. In my own life, I'm already dead.

“Do you see this?” Releasing his leg, she used both hands to show him her shirt. “It's a bullet hole. I was shot through the chest. I'm only alive because this is the Land.”

Because she had healed herself. And because Joan had summoned her.

Liand stared at her, plainly unable to grasp what her assertions entailed.

“On top of that, it looks like the whole Land is against me. The Masters don't mean me any harm, but they're deaf to everything I care about.” The weight of her concerns grew as she listed them. “You've seen Kevin's Dirt. You know the
caesures,
the Falls. There are
kresh
and
Elohim
and Sandgorgons and Ravers.” Anele had mentioned
skurj,
whatever they might be. “There are at least two lunatics with too much power,” Roger and Joan. “And there's Lord Foul, who has my son.

“Do you want to know the name of your doom? Do you really? It's the Despiser. He's trying to destroy the entire Earth.”

The mere act of speaking such words seemed to bring the peril nearer. Yet she could not stop. Liand needed to know what he risked in her company.

“And as if all of that weren't enough, the Staff of Law has been lost. It's the only weapon I know of against Kevin's Dirt and the Falls, and it disappeared after only a couple of generations. I need it back, but I have no earthly idea where to look.”

Raising her hands, she clenched them into fists between her and the Stonedownor as if to fight off his growing chagrin.

“Do you think the Land is bigger than the Masters have ever told you? Do you think the danger is more terrible than anything you've ever imagined? You have no idea. Men
with the power of gods could scarcely stand against what Lord Foul is doing, and I can't begin to compare myself with them.

“I need your help, Liand. That's painfully obvious. I'll be glad for your company. But if you've got some confused notion that all we have to do is escape the Masters, you should go home now. They are the least of our problems.” Absolutely the least. “If you come with me, I can't promise you anything except anguish and death.”

There she stopped, shaken by the danger of what she had said. If Liand chose to turn away now—as he should—she would have nothing except Covenant's ring and her failing health-sense and Anele's fractured guidance to aid her.

But she had struck a spark of anger in the young man. He glared at her, squaring his shoulders and straightening his back until he appeared to tower over her, bright with sunshine.

“Linden Avery,” he retorted sternly, “have you not said that you sojourned to Mithil Stonedown once before, in years long past? At that time, did it appear to you that the folk of my home were careless of their word, or lightly swayed from the path of their convictions and desires?”

She shook her head helplessly, remembering Sunder with rue and admiration. The Graveler she had known had held fast to all his choices, regardless of their consequences. Without him, she and Covenant would not have survived—

“If they did,” Liand went on, “then we have come far from that time, and do not regret what we have become.” Every upright line of his frame seemed to reproach her. “I am not so flighty of heart that I would recant my wish to aid you merely because the peril is great. I do not merit your doubt. And I will not abandon you.”

Linden bowed her head to hide her sudden tears. His unexpected dignity made him impossible to contradict. And she saw now, without warning, that he was taking the same stand that she had taken ten years ago, when she had involved herself in Covenant's ordeal with Joan. Covenant had warned her in the simplest and most honest terms,
You don't know what's going on here. You couldn't possibly understand it. And you didn't choose it.
But she, too, had refused to be dissuaded.