Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

Again Stave nodded; but she did not stop. Her indignation rose into the night as if it were directed at every Haruchai who had ever lived, although it was not. For Stave’s people, she felt only a sorrow which she could not afford.

“And it’s why you never actually got together to fight the Clave, even though your people were being slaughtered,” shed to feed the Sunbane. “Even after Covenant saved you, only a few of you joined us. You knew that we were going to search for the One Tree, and you didn’t consider yourselves worthy to face your ak-Haru . You couldn’t commit yourselves to defend the Land until Brinn proved that he could take the Guardian’s place. Until he became the ak-Haru himself.

“That’s when you finally started to believe in yourselves again.”

The Masters had carried their perception of worth too far. Now she knew why. After millennia of loss, they had regained their self-respect, but they had never learned how to grieve. Liand was right about them. They could only find healing in the attempt to match Brinn’s example. Their humiliation had made them too rigid for any other release.

“So of course,” Linden continued. “the Humbled attacked the Harrow before he did anything to threaten us. They had to. He’s one of the Insequent. That’s all the provocation they needed.”

“Indeed.” Stave stood in darkness, as unrevealing as the stars. “Aspiring to Brinn’s triumph, they now desire to prove themselves against any of the Insequent. For that reason, among others, I did not wish to speak of the Mahdoubt, or of the stranger, until we were certain of their nature.”

“But you didn’t tell anyone about all this?” That, too, might have healed them. If nothing else, it might have eased their loneliness. “Anyone at all? Didn’t you think that someone might need to know your story?”

Her protest was addressed to the Mahdoubt as well.

The Humbled had moved closer, following the light as it shrank and faltered. They stood around Linden, Stave, and the Mahdoubt like sentinels or accusers, stiff with wariness or reproach.

“Until this moment,” Stave acknowledged, “no Haruchai has spoken of these matters aloud, saving only Brinn during your approach to the One Tree. In the time of the Lords, the Bloodguard would have answered if any Lord or Giant had inquired. But none knew of the Insequent. There were no queries. Even in the approach to the One Tree, neither you nor the Unbeliever nor any Giant questioned Brinn and Cail concerning ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol , though you were informed that our knowledge was older than the time of the Bloodguard.

“As you have confirmed, Berek Halfhand knew of the Theomach, as did Damelon Giantfriend. Yet that tale was transformed at its birth. It was told to suit the Theomach’s purpose. This also you have confirmed. No mention was made of the Insequent in Berek Heartthew’s presence, or in his son’s. Rather the first Halfhand’s thoughts were guided along other paths.

“Nor have we deemed it needful to reveal our ancient shame. Though it remains fresh from generation to generation among us, the Insequent played no part in the stratagems of Corruption or the perils of the Land. We could not state with certainty that the Vizard’s kind had not ceased to exist. Why then should we speak of our humiliation?”

Little more than embers remained in Stave’s eye as he said to Linden. “Perhaps now you will grasp the import of Brinn’s victory over the Guardian of the One Tree. It inspired the Haruchai to believe themselves equal to the Mastery of the Land, for it redeemed us to ourselves.”

Linden grasped too much: she could not absorb it all. The acquiescence of the Humbled when the Mahdoubt had contradicted their wishes made sense to her now. But she did not know why the Mahdoubt had insisted on Stave’s tale. How was it needful , except as a farewell?

When Stave was done, the Insequent seemed to call up old reserves of fortitude or determination. Straightening her shoulders arduously, she raised her chin to the advancing night.

“Accept the Mahdoubt’s thanks,” she said to Stave, quavering. “She desires to end her days with kindness. On her behalf, you have granted my lady a precious boon.”

In an instant, the woman’s utter frailty snatched away Linden’s other concerns. “My friend,” she murmured, bending close to the Mahdoubt. “Please. Isn’t there anything I can do? I’ve been trained to heal people. And I have the Staff of Law , for God’s sake. Surely I can-?”

“My lady, no.” The old woman sounded sure in spite of her weakness. “The Mahdoubt’s knowledge does not partake of Law. It has preserved her far beyond her mortality. Assuredly. Now her end cannot be undone.

“Her last boon,” she went on before Linden could protest, “is meant as solace. It is her wish to lessen your fears and sorrows. She desires you to be assured that you may trust this spurned Master. He has named his pain. By it he may be invoked.”

Stave lifted his eyebrow, but did not respond.

Damn it! Linden tried to protest. I know I can trust him. You don’t have to do this. But her grief remained trapped in her chest. She did not have the heart to plead, Please don’t leave me.

Instead she said, “Thank you.” She was able to summon that much grace. “You’ve been my friend in more ways than I can count. I can’t honestly say that I understand you, but I know your kindness. And you’ve saved me-” For a moment, her throat closed. “If I ever manage to do something good,” by evil means or otherwise. “it will be because you believed in me.”

The Mahdoubt lowered her head. “Then Quern Ehstrel is content.”

There Linden nearly lost the clenched wrath that defended her. Trembling with imminent bereavement, she whispered, “Now please. Let me at least try to stop what’s happening to you. There are a lot of things that I can do, if you’ll let me.” Stave and Anele had refused her healing. They had that right. “I might find something-”

“Forbear, my lady.” The Insequent’s voice held a desperate severity. “Permit to the Mahdoubt the dignity of departure.”

“I know your true name,” countered Linden hoarsely. “Can’t I compel you?”

The woman nodded. “Assuredly. The Mahdoubt begs that you do not.”

With a tremulous effort, she detached one arm from Stave’s support. Tears blurred the discrepancy of her eyes, urging Linden to release her.

When Linden let go at last, the Mahdoubt turned slowly from the dying embers of the campfire and began to walk away, tottering into the night. The Humbled bowed as they watched her pass. And Stave also bowed, according her the stern respect of the Haruchai .

Linden could not match their example. Instead she hugged her Staff and bore witness.

As the Mahdoubt reached the failing edge of the light, she tried to chant. “A simple charm will master time.” But her voice broke after a few words; shattered into giggling. And with every step, she lost substance, macerated by darkness. Dissolving from sight, she left a mad mirth behind her, laughter pinched with hysteria.

But Linden closed her heart to the sound. As if in defiance, she concentrated instead on the salvific unction of the verses which had retrieved her from the Land’s past.

The silent mind does not protest

The ending of its days, or go

To grief in loss and futile pain,

But rather knows the healing gain

Of time’s eternity at rest.

The cause of sequence makes it so.

No, she thought. I do not forgive. I will not.

She knew no other way to say goodbye.