Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant (31 page)

“This winter is sort of left over from losing the sun for a season or two.”

Jeremiah was watching Linden

sidelong, apparently studying her, although he looked away whenever she

turned toward him. But the air’s

getting warmer,” he said. “Can you tell?” His voice had taken on a faintly pleading tone. “This valley goes down into the Center Plains. It’s still going to be cold when the sun sets. But Covenant can help you. All you have to do is ask.”

He seemed to want her to accept her dependence on Covenant.

She wanted to hear her son justify his

loyalty to Covenant. He had called Covenant the best. How had Covenant won Jeremiah’s heart? But she did not wish to risk alienating him. Instead of rejecting his implicit appeal directly, she said, “I’m hanging in there, Jeremiah, honey. I’ll make it somehow.

“But it really helps when you talk to me. Can I ask you something?”

The boy frowned at Covenant’s dark shape as if he were unsure of himself.

“I guess, Mom. If it’ll do any good. Depending on what it is.”

They were deep in shadow; still far from the nearest dwindling patch of sunshine. Without light, Linden could not insist on an answer to the question that mattered most to her. For the moment, she concentrated on other concerns.

“I understand that there are things you can’t tell me,” she began, keeping her

tone as neutral as possible. “They’ll interfere with the-I’m not sure what to call it-the continuity of what we’re doing.” In this circumstance, her mind cannot be distinguished from the Arch of Time. “But I’m curious. How do you know the Theomach? You said that you’ve never met him, but you obviously recognized him.”

“Oh, that.” Jeremiah’s relief was plain in his voice. Clearly her question did not trouble him. “I heard about him,

that’s all. He’s one of the Insequent.

“I told you I’ve been here a lot. I mean, in the Land. And around the Earth. Sort of disembodied, like a ghost. Most of the time, I didn’t choose where I was. Choosing is hard. And I never knew when I was. But once in a while, I met one of the Insequent. They talked about him. The Theomach. I guess he’s their biggest hero. Or he’s going to be. It’s confusing. I don’t know when any of them talked to me, but it seems

like it must have been after where we are now. I can’t see why he’s supposed to be such a big deal, so maybe being a hero comes later.

“But there was one-I saw him a bunch of times. I don’t think that was an accident. I think he was looking for me. He called himself the Vizard. He said he wanted us to be friends, but I thought he really just wanted me to do something. When I saw him, he almost always talked about the Theomach. I

got the impression he was jealous or something.”

In the distance ahead, Covenant passed back into sunlight; and the sudden change seemed to make him flare as if he had emerged from a dimension of darkness.

Waiting for her opportunity-for the burst of light that might be her last chance-Linden asked carefully. “What did he want you to do’?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “Build something, I guess. Like the door that let me come here. Only what he wanted was really a trap. A door into a prison.”

Simply to keep her son with her, she asked. “Why did he want that?”

“Oh,” he replied as if the subject were inconsequential. “it was for the Elohim. All of them. I guess they hate each other. The Insequent and the Elohim. The Vizard thought if I made the right

door it would lure them in and they wouldn’t be able to get out. And maybe if he just talked about it enough I would know how to make it.

“But I wasn’t really listening. I didn’t like him. And nothing made sense. I didn’t understand why he hated the Elohim. He didn’t seem to have a reason. I decided he just wanted to prove he’s greater than the Theomach, so I stopped paying attention.”

A few steps more: only a dozen or so. Jeremiah could not conceal his disquiet. He had retrieved his racecar and was playing with it tensely, flipping it back and forth between his hands. Ahead, Covenant had vanished back into shadow. As the sun fell closer to setting, the shadows grew darker: Linden could hardly be sure that he still existed. And Jeremiah gave her the impression that he might bolt at any moment, overcome by the stress of talking to her.

“Just a little longer, honey,” she urged quietly. “I can see that it’s hard for you to be around me. But there’s one thing I have to know. I’m not sure that I can keep going without it.”

“What is it?” His manner was suddenly thick with distrust.

Linden hazarded a moment or two of silence. Then through the crunching of her boots and the crisp stamp of the Staff, she said, “You won’t have to talk

at all. You can just show me.”

Half a stride ahead of her, Jeremiah crossed into the light of the sun.

It was pale with constriction and approaching twilight, but it seemed bright as morning after the gloom of the shadows. As soon as she reached the sunshine herself, and her son was fully illumined, she halted. Bracing her fears on the Staff, she said. “Jeremiah,” as if she had the right to

command him, “take off your shirt. Let me look at you. I have to know if you were shot.”

Harsh as a blow, he wheeled to face her. The mud of his gaze roiled with darkness and anger. At the corner of his left eye, the muscles beat as steadily as a war-drum; a summons to battle.

Startled and afraid, Linden flinched as if her son had threatened her.

But he complied. Vehemently, almost viciously, he undid the remaining buttons of his pajama top; tore it from his shoulders; flung it to the snow at his feet. If he felt the cold, he did not show it.

As if she had demanded a violation he resented fiercely but could not refuse, he turned in a circle, letting her scrutinize his naked back as well as his chest. But there were too many stains on his skin, too much grime. If he had

been wounded and healed, she could not find the scars.

He must have recognized her uncertainty. Abruptly he stooped, punched his fists through the icy crust, and scooped up handfuls of snow. Then he slapped the snow onto his chest and stomach, rubbing furiously until he had cleaned away the marks of struggle and torment.

In the sun’s failing light, his skin looked

as healthy and whole as if she had bathed him herself; as if he were the son whom she had loved and tended for so many years.

Are you satisfied?” he hissed venomously. “Mom?”

Oh, God. Instinctively Linden hugged the Staff to her chest, covered her face with her icy hands. Sweet Jesus. The previous day-or ten thousand years in the future-she had asked Jeremiah if

he had been shot. At first, he had tried to avoid an answer. Then he had replied, I’m not sure. Something knocked me down pretty hard, I remember that. But there wasn’t any pain.

But he had not been shot. Somehow Barton Lytton’s deputies had missed him. Instead he had merely been struck, perhaps by Roger’s falling body. Therefore he remained alive in the world to which he had been born; the

world where he belonged. His life, his natural birthright, could still be saved. In fact, if she understood what she had once experienced herself, and what Covenant had explained about his own visits to the Land—

She heard Jeremiah retrieve his shirt and shove his arms into the sleeves; heard him stride angrily away. But she could not uncover her eyes to watch him leave her. If she understood the rules, the Law, governing translations

to the Land, Jeremiah could not be slain here while he remained alive in his proper reality. Lord Foul might torture him until his mind tore itself, but the Despiser could not kill him. Instead Jeremiah would only remain in Lord Foul’s power until his summoner passed away. Then he would be released to his former life. And his body would bear no sign of what he had endured. Only his sane or shredded mind would suffer the consequences of his time in the Land.

My son-Unregarded tears froze on Linden’s cheeks and fingers. Covenant had indeed offered her hope. But he had also misled her. Worse than that, he had lied to her.

If he succeeded against the Despiser, Jeremiah’s summoner would die. Linden knew Joan too well to believe otherwise. Joan was too frail, too brittle, to preserve herself. Wild magic and her own agony were too destructive to be endured. Without the

imposed goad and sustenance of Lord Foul’s servants, she would perish quickly.

Then Jeremiah’s torment would end. He would vanish from the Land. Linden would remain because she was already dead. Even Roger might remain, seeking such havoc that the bones of mountains tremble to contemplate it. But Jeremiah—

If he returned to his natural world a

mental cripple, she would not be there to care for him. He would be lost to her forever.

That was the lie. Covenant had said that he’ll still be trapped wherever Foul has him, but Jeremiah would not be, he would not. He’ll still need rescuing. Yet surely Covenant knew that Joan’s death would release the boy?

Nonetheless Linden had been given a reason to hope. The Despiser’s defeat

would spare her son’s life.

And she had another reason as well; an entirely different kind of reason. The Blood of the Earth. You can Command any damn thing you want. All you have to do is want it, and you and your kid will be reunited. Anywhere you choose. She could block Jeremiah’s return to the world of her death: she could keep him in the Land. Then she would not need to fear for the condition of his mind. Here he could be truly

restored, healed.

But she would still lose him. If it’ll make you happy, you two can live in Andelain-There Covenant had misled her. Jeremiah’s vehemence toward her moments ago, like his devotion to Covenant, proclaimed the truth. If she enabled him to remain in the Land, he would not choose to live with her. He did not love her. He had never loved her. For years while she had lavished her heart on him, he had been absent

from himself. Dissociated and

unreactive, he had been more conscious of Covenant’s friendship than of anything that she had done or felt.

From his damaged perspective, he had no cause to love her—

An uncertain future in his natural world or a life of wholeness in the Land. The Power of Command would enable her to provide one or the other for her son.

But that choice was not hers to make: it belonged to him. Either way, he would be lost her to her; but her bereavement was beside the point. She had already lost him. And he was not responsible for her dedication-or her sorrow.

Covenant was another matter entirely. He had lied to her. Deliberately he had tried to obscure the true crux of Jeremiah’s straits-and of her own.

She needed to talk to him. She needed to talk to him now.

But when she snatched down her hands and opened her eyes to the dying light, she found the Theomach standing in front of her.

Instinctively she clasped her numb fingers around the Staff. But she did not call upon its power. She felt no threat from the Insequent. To her health-sense, he still appeared to be an

ordinary man beneath his strange habiliments; devoid of any inherent theurgy. If she had not fallen so far down into her grief and anger, she would have discerned him as soon as he approached her.

Instead of fire, she drew a little heat from the ready wood, a little comfort, so that she would not collapse into shivering.

She meant to demand, Tell me. I have

to know. Why did Covenant lie to me? But before she could form the words, the Theomach held up his hand to forestall her. His wrapped and hidden face regarded her with an attitude of grave attention.

“Lady,” he said in his light voice, “understand that your son’s plight is not a simple matter-as yours is not. Even the Halfhand is not free of pain.

“I may say nothing of his designs. You

must earn the knowledge that you seek. However,” he added as she started to protest, “I will accompany you now, if you will permit it. In recompense for your courtesy, I will answer any questions which do not undermine the integrity of Time, or of my own purposes.” Then he lowered his voice as if he did not wish to be overheard. “Also I will ease your passage through this winter, so that you need not hazard either your own fire or the Halfhand’s. Perhaps my aid

will enable you to gain your destination with strength sufficient for what must be done.”

Linden stared at him. He had surprised her out of her immediate turmoil, but she did not forget it. And she was sick to death of people who sought to manipulate her by concealing the truth. However, she understood nothing about the Theomach-and he had offered to answer questions.

After a moment, she said stiffly, “I’m not sure that I want company.” Convince me. “Let’s start with this. If Covenant stays on your path-and I do-will I get a chance to find out what he isn’t telling me?”

The Theomach bowed as though her query signaled acquiescence. “Lady, I believe that you will. You have displayed cleverness, and perhaps wisdom as well. You will contrive opportunities to wrest what veracity you

may from your companions.”

What veracity you may-Linden heard disturbing implications in the words, but she was too distraught to consider them. She already knew that she did not trust Covenant.

And her son had not been shot. He would live, whatever happened.

“In that case,” she replied, “I can’t pretend that I don’t need help. What

can you do to make this easier?”

Her companion gestured along

Covenant’s and Jeremiah’s trail. “Words will not demonstrate my intent. Walk and you will witness my aid.”

Linden stared at him for a moment longer. Then she sighed to herself. Gripping the Staff tensely in one hand, she resumed her long floundering trudge through the snow.

But she did not flounder: her boots did not break through the crust. Instead she found herself striding like the Theomach over the unreliable surface, unimpeded by brittle ice or clogging snow. The iron heel of the Staff struck the crust with a muted thud like a buried echo, but did not pierce it.

The change relieved her tired muscles and worn resolve more than she would have thought possible. She felt lighter, as though a portion of her mortal dross