Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

Now her companion avoided her gaze. Concealing her eyes behind the hood of her cloak, the Mahdoubt studied the night as if the darkened trees might offer her wisdom. “The lady holds all knowledge that is necessary to her,” she murmured. “Of this no more may be said. Yet is the Mahdoubt saddened by the lady’s plight? Assuredly she is. And does her desire to provide succour remain? It does, again assuredly. Perchance by her own quest for knowledge she may assist the lady.”

Without shifting her contemplation of the forest, the older woman addressed Linden.

“Understand, lady, that the Mahdoubt inquires with respect, seeking only kindness. What is your purpose? If you obtain that which you covet here, what will be your path?”

Linden scowled. “You mean if I can get back to the time where I belong? I’m going to rescue my son.”

“Oh, assuredly,” assented the Mahdoubt. “As would others in your place. The Mahdoubt herself might do so. But do you grasp that your son has known the power of a-Jeroth? He that is imprisoned, a-Jeroth of the Seven Hells?”

Linden winced. Long ago, the Clave had spoken of a-Jeroth. Both she and Covenant had taken that as another name for Lord Foul: an assumption which Roger had confirmed.

“He’s Lord Foul’s prisoner,” she replied through her teeth. Tell her that I have her son. “I’ve known that since I first arrived. One of the croyel has him now, but that doesn’t change anything.”

The older woman sighed. “The Mahdoubt does not speak of this. Rather she observes that a-Jeroth’s mark was placed upon the boy when he was yet a small child, as the lady recalls.”

Her statement stuck Linden’s heart like iron on stone; struck and shed sparks. The bonfire, she thought in sudden anguish. Jeremiah’s hand. He had been in Lord Foul’s power then, hypnotised by eyes like fangs in the savage flames; betrayed by his natural mother. He had borne the cost ever since. And when his raceway construct freed him to visit the Land, he may have felt the Despiser’s influence, directly or indirectly.

The Mahdoubt seemed to suggest that Jeremiah had formed a willing partnership with the croyel . That his sufferings had distorted and corrupted him within the secrecy of his dissociation.

If Linden’s heart had not been fused-

The older woman seemed unaware of Linden’s shock; or she chose to ignore it. “Respectfully the Mahdoubt inquires again. What is your purpose?”

Anchoring herself on stone, Linden answered. “That doesn’t change anything. Even if you’re right. I have to get him back.” Somehow. “If he’s been marked”- claimed? — “I’ll deal with that when he’s safe.”

“Assuredly,” countered the woman. “This the Mahdoubt comprehends. Yet her query remains unmet. What will be your path to the accomplishment of your purpose?”

If her questions and assertions were kindly meant, their benignance had become obscure.

“All right.” Linden gripped the Staff with both hands as if she intended to lash out at the Mahdoubt. But she did not; would not: she clenched the Staff only because she could not close her fingers around the hardness that filled her chest. “Assuming that I’m not stuck in this time, I’ll go to Andelain. Maybe the Dead are still there.” Maybe Covenant himself would be there: the real Thomas Covenant rather than his son’s malign simulacrum. Her need for him increased with every beat of her heart. They might help me.” Even the spectre of Kevin Landwaster had once counselled her according to the dictates of his torment. “But even if they aren’t-”

When Linden fell silent, holding back ideas that she had kept to herself for days, the Mahdoubt prompted her. “Lady?”

Oh, hell, Linden muttered to herself. What did she have left to lose? An idea that she had concealed from Roger and the croyel could not hurt her now.

Harshly she told her companion. “Maybe I can find Loric’s krill .” She had heard that there were no limits to the amount of force which could be expressed through the eldritch dagger. “Covenant and I left it in Andelain.” Millennia hence, it would enable the breaking of the Law of Life. And the clear gem around which it had been forged had always responded to white gold. She was counting on that. “If it’s still there, I’ll have a weapon that might let me use wild magic and my Staff at the same time.”

Had the Mahdoubt asked her why she wanted to wield power on that scale, she would have had difficulty answering. Certainly she needed all the puissance she could muster against foes like Roger, Kastenessen, and the Despiser. But she had begun to consider other possibilities as well; choices which she hardly knew how to articulate. She had already demonstrated that she was inadequate to the Land’s plight. Now every effort to envision some kind of hope brought her back to Covenant.

But the older woman did not pursue her questions. Wrapping her cloak more tightly about her, she shrank into herself.

“Then the Mahdoubt may say no more.” Her voice emerged, muffled and saddened, from her shrouded shape. “The lady is in possession of all that she requires. And her purpose exceeds the Mahdoubt’s infirm contemplation. It is fearsome and terrible. The lady embraces devastation.”

A moment later, she spoke to Linden more directly. “Nonetheless her years have taught the Mahdoubt that there is hope in contradiction. Upon occasion, ruin and redemption defy distinction. Assuredly they do. She will trust to that when every future has become cruel.

“Lady, if you will permit the Mahdoubt to guide you, you will set such thoughts aside until you have rested. Sleep comforts the wracked spirit. Behold.” The woman’s hand emerged from her cloak to indicate her flask. “Springwine has the virtue to compel slumber. Allow ease to soften your thoughts. This she implores of you. If you make haste toward the Earth’s doom, it will hasten to meet you.”

When her hand withdrew, she became motionless beside her steady cookfire as though she herself had fallen asleep.

Like her advice, her statements conveyed nothing. -in possession of all that she requires. Such assertions left Linden unillumined; or she could not hear them. As far as she was concerned, her own ignorance and helplessness were all that gave meaning to words like doom .

Nevertheless she did not protest or beg. She made no demands. The Mahdoubt had come to this time to rescue her: she was certain of that. The Mahdoubt’s desire to accomplish something good here was unmistakable, in spite of the obfuscation imposed by her peculiar morality. She had travelled an inconceivable distance in order to meet Linden’s simpler needs. She had spoken for Linden when Caerroil Wildwood might have slain her. The woman’s human aura, her presence, her manner-everything about her that was accessible to Linden’s percipience-elicited conviction.

And she had insisted that Linden was not ignorant. The lady is in possession of all that she requires.

When Linden could no longer contain the pressure of her caged passions, she rose to her feet. Taking the Staff with her, she began to pace out her futility on the cold-hardened ground of the riverbank.

She did not walk away into the trees, although the gall and ire of Gallows Howe seemed to whisper a summons. There, at least, she would not be urged to sleep. The Forestal’s gibbet would recognise her rage, and approve. Nevertheless she did not intrude on the Deep. She had no desire to test the extent of Caerroil Wildwood’s forbearance. And the glowering resentment of the forest would not encourage her to think more clearly.

Instead she strode along the narrow strip of open ground at the edge of the Black River. And when she had walked far enough to reduce the Mahdoubt’s cookfire to a small glimmer, she turned back, passing the older woman and continuing on until she was once more in danger of losing sight of her companion. Then she turned again as if she were drawn by the innominate and undiminished promise implicit in the gentle flames.