Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

Slowly she turned to meet Stave’s gaze; and as she did so, she restored the brightness of the Staff. She could not read his spirit: no doubt she would never be able to see past his physical presence. Nonetheless she suspected that his passions ran to depths which she could hardly fathom. Like Jeremiah’s dissociation, his stoicism might be a defence-and a prison.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “That helps. He isn’t my son because I gave him birth. He’s my son because I chose him. I don’t know what the truth is. I may never know. But I can still choose. I’m going to believe that he has the right,” every child’s right. “to be himself.”

To her surprise, Stave responded with a deep Haruchai bow. “Chosen,” he replied, unexpectedly formal. “thus would I speak of my own sons, though they remain among the Masters, and with the Masters have spurned me.”

Linden stared at him in chagrin. His sons-? She had known in the abstract that his people had wives and children. How could they not? But she had never considered the possibility that he might have sons who had turned their backs on him.

His determination to stand with her had cost him more than she had ever imagined.

You didn’t-She wanted to say, You didn’t tell me. You never even hinted-According to the Mahdoubt, He has named his pain . But he had not truly done so until now.

Before she could find her voice, however, he went on more sternly. “Now I comprehend your query. And you have answered it. Here the Giant Grimmand Honninscrave accepted possession by samadhi Sheol and remained himself. You will not think less of your son than of any Giant whom you have known.”

His manner forbade questions. He would not think less of his own sons-

Trust yourself.

At last, the Mahdoubt’s voice fell to silence in Linden’s mind.

With an effort, she swallowed her protests. When she felt ready to respect his privacy-and his loneliness-she said. “All right. I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but it must be time to go. Mahrtiir will wonder where we are. And if he doesn’t, Liand will.” For Stave’s sake, she attempted a smile. “In any case, they’re probably as ready as they’ll ever be.” Glancing around to locate the doors, she added uncomfortably, “There’s just one more thing.”

The rejected Master faced her as though nothing had passed between them. “Chosen?”

“I don’t know how much of your story you want to tell. It’s your story. I won’t say anything. But the others,” Liand and the Ramen, “should at least know that the Mahdoubt and the Harrow are Insequent,” linked to the Theomach. “It might help them understand what were up against.”

Stave shrugged slightly. “As you say.”

With that she had to be content.

Sighing, she started toward the doors. Walking together in spite of his acute separation, she and Stave left the Hall of Gifts.

There may have been thousands of stairs. It was conceivable. The Hall lay a considerable distance below the level of Revelstone’s gates, and her rooms were high in the Keep’s south-facing wall. By the time she and Stave gained the corridor outside her quarters, her legs were trembling with strain, and she had to pant for breath. Only the coolness of the air spared her from sweating through her shirt.

Outside her door, Liand, the Ramen, and Anele awaited her. With the exception of Anele, they radiated varying degrees of anxiety and frustration. On the floor around their feet lay a number of bedrolls, bundles, and sacks: supplies for an unpredictable journey. Whatever the Masters may have decided, the servants of Revelstone had been generous.

In spite of his scrapes and bruises, Galt guarded her door. Clearly he had refused admittance to Linden’s companions. His stance may have been intended as courtesy toward her. Or it may have been a foretaste of the Masters’ attitude.

Liand greeted her with a gust of relief. “Linden!”

“Ringthane.” Mahrtiir was less easily reassured. “This Master,” he snorted, slapping a gesture at Galt, “grants nothing. He has refused to reveal your whereabouts. He will say only that in your absence we may not enter your chambers. Yet it is manifest that he has seen combat. Events of import have transpired while we are kept in ignorance, confined by stone.

“Does some new threat confront this harsh Keep?”

Bhapa shared the Manethrall’s ire. Pahni stood beside Liand, holding his arm as if she were determined not to let him go. Under his breath, Anele mumbled his distrust of the Masters and imprisonment.

Linden held up her hands to quiet Mahrtiir’s vexation. Still panting, she said, “I’m sorry. Were all right. You can see that. There were a couple of things that I needed to do while you were getting ready. Stave will tell you about them when he gets a chance.

Right now”- she tasted the air and found that daybreak was near- “we should head down to the gates. We have a long way to go, and I don’t think that any of it will be easy.”

She had left nothing of hers in her rooms.

“Linden Avery,” Galt began firmly. “the Masters-”

She cut him off. “Don’t say it. I already know.” And she was not yet sure what form her response might take. “If I’m wrong, Handir won’t hesitate to set me straight.”

The Humbled raised an eyebrow in apparent disapproval. But he did not insist on speaking.

Mahrtiir flashed a fierce grin at Galt; at Linden. Linden did not know what the Manethrall saw in her-or in the Humbled-but he was eager for its outcome.

Bhapa and Pahni said nothing: they would not when their Manethrall was silent. But Linden expected a flood of questions from Liand. She braced herself to fend them off.

He surprised her, however. With unfamiliar ease, he dammed his baffled concerns. Studying him, she guessed that Pahni had relieved much of his ignorance. But the change in him had another source as well: she could see it. On a visceral and perhaps unconscious level, the focus of his attention had shifted. It was now concentrated on Pahni. He was Linden’s friend: he would always be her friend. He would stand by her with the same steadfastness that she had known in Sunder. But she no longer consumed his thoughts, or his heart.

His alteration gave her a touch of relief, which she attempted to conceal for his sake. It freed her to focus more closely on her own intentions.

Even when her thoughts were elsewhere, everything that she felt and did revolved around Jeremiah.

Stave faced her with inquiry in his eye. He may have wanted to know how she would reply to the Masters. When she said nothing, however, he gave another small shrug and went to help the Ramen and Liand carry their burdens.

As soon as her companions had shouldered their bedrolls and supplies, Mahrtiir nodded sharply. With Stave beside her to lead the way, Linden headed back down the many stairs and passages toward the forehall. Her companions came after her; and Galt followed behind them as if to ensure that they did not change their minds.

After a short distance, Linden asked Liand to walk with her. In spite of her relief, she needed to talk to him. Through Anele, Covenant had promised the Stonedownor an obscure and difficult burden. And Liand had given her more generosity and consideration than she could measure. She wanted to contribute to his sense of discovered purpose. She owed him that much.

He left Pahni and Anele to join her. For a moment, she studied him sidelong, observing the ease with which his sturdy frame bore two bedrolls and a bulging sack; measuring the extent of his new anticipation. Then, trying to sound casual, she said. “I promised you some answers. Pahni has told you what she can. Stave will fill in a few of the gaps. But you and I-” She paused briefly to consider what she could offer him. Not for the first time, she regretted that he was not safe in Mithil Stonedown. I wish I could spare you. But there was no safety anywhere: not now. We should talk about orcrest .”