Stephen Donaldson: Fatal Revenant

She wanted to hold onto that memory until she reached the upland tarn and could endeavour once again to wash away her dismay.

Don’t touch him! Don’t touch either of us!

She had risked the destruction of the world in order to retrieve the Staff of Law so that she might have some chance to redeem her son; yet both Jeremiah and Covenant had appeared through no act or decision or hazard of hers. For years and years she had striven to free Jeremiah from the chains of his peculiar dissociative disorder; yet he had reclaimed his mind in her absence, while Lord Foul tormented him. She had used all of her will and insight in an attempt to sway the Masters, and had won only Anele’s freedom and Stave’s friendship-at the cost of Stave’s violent expulsion from the communion of his people. And she had brought the Demondim to this time, recklessly, when Revelstone had no defence.

Like Kevin’s Dirt, shame threatened to drain her until she was too weak to bear the cost of her life. Without the Staff’s fire to sustain her, she clung to her best memories of Covenant’s love-and to the possibilities of Glimmermere-so that she would not be driven to her knees by the weight of her mistakes and failures.

But those memories brought others. Alone with her, Covenant had spoken of the time when he had been the helpless prisoner of Kasreyn of the Gyre in Bhrathairealm. There the thaumaturge had described the value and power of white gold; of the same ring which now hung uselessly on its chain around her neck. In a flawed world , Kasreyn had informed Covenant, purity cannot endure. Thus within each of my works I must perforce place one small flaw, else there would be no work at all. But white gold was an alloy; inherently impure. Its imperfection is the very paradox of which the Earth is made, and with it a master may form perfect works and fear nothing.

The flaw in Kasreyn’s works had permitted the Sandgorgon Nom to escape the prison of Sandgorgons Doom. Without it, Covenant, Linden, and the remnants of the Search might not have been able to breach Revelstone in order to defeat the Clave and quench the Banefire. But that was not the point which Covenant had wished Linden to grasp. Long centuries earlier, his friend Mhoram had told him, You are the white gold. And in the Banefire, Covenant himself had become a kind of alloy, an admixture of wild magic and the Despiser’s venom; capable of perfect power.

At the time, he had wanted Linden to understand why he would never again use his ring. He had become too dangerous: he was human and did not trust himself to achieve any perfection except ruin. With his own strict form of gentleness, he had tried to prepare her for his eventual surrender to Lord Foul.

But now she thought that perhaps his words three and a half thousand years ago explained his unexpected appearance here. He had been transformed in death: Lord Foul had burned away the venom, leaving Covenant’s spirit purified. As a result, he may have become a kind of perfect being-who could wield wild magic and fear nothing.

If that were true, he had come to retrieve his ring. He would need the instrument of his power in order to transcend the strictures imposed on him by his participation in the Arch of Time. Without his ring, he would only be capable of what he called tricks.

But why, then-? Linden’s heart stumbled in pain. Why did he and Jeremiah refuse her touch?

She believed that she understood why her Staff threatened them. If Covenant had indeed folded time , he could only have done so by distorting the fundamental necessities of sequence and causality; the linear continuity of existence. Therefore the force of her Staff would be inherently inimical to his presence, and to Jeremiah’s. It would reaffirm the Law which he had transgressed. He and Jeremiah might well disappear back into their proper dimensions of reality.

But how could her touch harm him, or her son? Apart from her Staff, she had no power except his wedding band.

If he wanted his ring back, why did he require her to keep her distance?

She groaned inwardly. She could not guess her way to the truth: she needed answers that she could not imagine for herself. As she and the Manethrall gradually turned their steps northwestward with the potential graze lands and fields of the lowest hillsides on their left and the gathering stands of evergreen on their right, she spoke to him for the first time since they had left the forehall.

“Could you see them?” she asked without preamble. “Covenant and my son? Is there anything that you can tell me about them?” For some reason, Anele had seemed unaware of their presence.

Mahrtiir did not hesitate. “The sight of the sleepless ones is not keener than ours,” he avowed, “though we cannot resist the diminishment of Kevin’s Dirt.” Scowling, he glanced skyward. “Yet the Unbeliever and your child are closed to us. I can descry nothing which you have not yourself beheld.” “Then what do you think I should do?” Linden did not expect guidance from him. She merely wished to hear the sound of his voice amid the distant calling of birds and the low rustle of the trees. “How can I uncover the truth’?” Just be wary of me.

She needed something akin to the fierce simplicity with which Mahrtiir appeared to regard the world.

He bared his teeth in a smile like a blade. “Ringthane, you may be surprised to hear that I urge caution. Already I have dared a Fall-aye, and ridden the great stallion Narunal-in your name. Nor would I falter at still greater hazards. Yet I mislike any violation of Law. I was the first to speak against Esmer’s acceptance by the Ramen, and the last to grant my trust. Nor does it now console me that he has justified my doubts. I judge that I did wrongly to turn aside from them.

“The Unbeliever and his companion disturb me, though I cannot name my concern. Their seeming is substantial, yet mayhap they are in truth spectres. These matters are beyond my ken. I am able to counsel only that you make no determination in haste.” The Manethrall paused for a long moment, apparently indecisive; and Linden wondered at the emotion rising in him. As they passed between mimosas toward the steeper hills surrounding Glimmermere, he cleared his throat to say more.

“But know this, Linden Avery, and be certain of it. I speak for the Ramen, as for the Cords in my care. We stand with you. The Ranyhyn have declared their service. Stave of the Haruchai has done so. I also would make my meaning plain.

“It appears that the Unbeliever has come among us, he who was once the Ringthane, and who twice accomplished Fangthane’s defeat, if the tales of him are sooth. Doubtless his coming holds vast import, and naught now remains as it was.” Mahrtiir’s tone hinted at battle as he pronounced, “Yet the Ramen stand with you. We cannot do less than the Ranyhyn have done. To him they reared when he was the Ringthane, but to you they gave unprecedented homage, bowing their heads. And they are entirely true. If you see peril in the Unbeliever’s presence, then we will oppose it at your side. Come good or ill, boon or bane, we stand with you.” Then the Manethrall shrugged, and his manner softened. “Doubtless Liand will do the same. For the Demondim-spawn, either Waynhim or ur-vile, I cannot speak. But I have no fear that Stave will be swayed by the Unbeliever. He has withstood the judgment of the sleepless ones, and will no longer doubt you. And Anele must cling to the holder of the Staff. He cannot do otherwise.” Mahrtiir faced her with reassurance in his eyes. “When you are summoned before the Unbeliever, consider that you are not alone. We who have elected to serve you will abide the outcome of your choices, and call ourselves fortunate to do so.” I seek a tale which will remain in the memories of the Ramen when my life has ended.