Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

“It is an extraordinary tale, Linden Avery. Your gift for brevity discomfits us. There is much that you have set aside. At another time, perhaps, we will ask more of you concerning the Insequent, Esmer, Kastenessen, and halfhands. Certainly we wish to grasp how it is that you remain among the living when you have been slain.”

She glanced around at the rest of the Swordmainnir. When Stonemage, Grueburn, Galesend, and the others nodded, she faced Linden again.

“However, the night grows short, and we cannot foretell how Kastenessen will direct his skurj . Therefore we must give precedence to a different concern.”

Linden tightened her embrace on the Staff. She knew what was coming.

The Ironhand appeared to select her words with care as she said, We cannot do otherwise than surmise that Longwrath’s craving for your death bears upon your purpose in some fashion. Do you dispute this?”

Linden shook her head. “Lord Foul seems to be everywhere these days. He told me that he hasn’t done anything himself. He just gives advice and waits to see what happens. But even if he’s telling the truth, he has a whole list of surrogates who could have twisted Longwrath’s mind.” Or his madness might be a distorted form of Earth-Sight- “One way or another, the Despiser wants to stop me.”

“Then, Linden Avery,” Coldspray pronounced distinctly, “Chosen and Sun-Sage, it behooves me to observe that you have not named your purpose.”

Linden feigned incomprehension. “What do you mean? I told you-”

“You wish to speak to the Dead,” countered the Swordmain. “You desire their knowledge and counsel. This we acknowledge. But you also seek the krill of Loric-and you have not justified your need for its immeasurable magicks.” Her voice had a whetted edge. “What use will you make of such vast puissance?”

“I thought that I was clear,” Linden insisted. “I want to find my son. I want to free him from the croyel . I might have to fight my way through the Despiser to do that. I’ll certainly have to deal with Kastenessen and Roger-and the skurj . And I want to do as much as I can for the Land.”

In that, she meant what she said.

“Does your intent end there, Chosen?” asked Stave quietly. “Do you not also seek retribution?”

I do not forgive.

Linden rounded on him. “So what?” He did not deserve her anger, but she made no effort to restrain it. “That comes last.” She had too much to conceal. “If I want to pay back some of my son’s pain after I’ve rescued him, what do you carer

Coldspray folded her arms across her chest. “Linden Avery, you are not forthright.” Her eyes caught a combative glint from the firelight. “Your words have another meaning which you do not name. It is audible.

“Will you not reveal how you propose to accomplish your ends? The power which you seek will not in itself uncover your son’s hiding place. It may defeat Kastenessen and his skurj , but it will not halt the ruptures which you name caesures , or silence the madness of Thomas Covenant’s lost mate. Nor will it reveal the machinations of the Despiser-or of the Elohim . It will merely enable the riving of the world.

“Why do you wish to wield illimitable might? What will you accomplish with Loric’s krill that does not serve the Despiser’?”

Linden resisted an impulse to duck her head, hide her eyes. Coldspray searched her, and she did not mean to be exposed. The Waynhim believed that Good cannot be accomplished by evil means. Instinctively she agreed with them. Therefore she had to trust that her intended means were not evil. Nonetheless her desire to protect her secret was inherently dishonest: it compelled her to tell lies of omission.

Yet some of her intentions were honest. She clung to that, and held the Ironhand’s probing gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she said carefully. “I know this is hard. But I’m not going to tell you. I won’t say it out loud.” If she did, the granite of her heart might crack open, spilling more rage and terror and shame than she could bear. “I need your help. I want your friendship. But I’m not going to answer you.”

Within her she holds the devastation of the Earth-

Long ago, she had learned the cost of escape. If she told the truth, someone here would try to stop her. Even her friends might oppose her. The Humbled would attack her without hesitation. Then she would be spared the burdens that she had chosen to bear-and Jeremiah would be lost to her-and she would not be able to endure it.

Liand, Pahni, and Bhapa stared at her openly. Mahrtiir’s stiffness suggested surprise. Apparently they had not thought so far ahead: they had focused their attention on the hazards of Linden’s journey rather than on its outcome. Only Stave betrayed no reaction. He may have recognised her need to avoid the enmity of the Humbled.

Surely Galt, Branl, and Clyme would not have left the glade if Stave had not agreed to let them hear what he heard?

“You prick my curiosity,” remarked Coldspray, poised and casual, like a woman ready to strike. “Do you seek to encourage our doubts? Is that your intention here?”

In spite of his gag, Longwrath fought to make himself heard. Linden was sure that he wanted to howl, Slay her!

How quickly, she wondered, could the Ironhand reach her glaive? Coldspray would not need it. None of the Swordmainnir would need their weapons. Linden was too small; too human. Any blow of their heavy fists would kill her.

Trust yourself. The Giants of the Search had become her friends long before the Haruchai had learned to respect her.

“Yes,” she answered as firmly as she could. “I need you to doubt me. If you don’t decide to help me for your own reasons instead of for mine, I’m doomed anyway. I don’t know how else to explain it. This is as close as I can come to the truth,” as close as she could afford to come. “I’ve told you what I want to accomplish. If you aren’t satisfied, you should walk away.”

Coldspray considered Linden for a long moment while Longwrath writhed in protest and stars thronged the cold sky. One by one, the Ironhand looked into the eyes of each of her comrades. In the moving shadows spread by the fire, some of them appeared to glower. Others grimaced.

Then she cocked her fists on her hips, threw back her head, and began to laugh.

Her laughter was as rich and open-throated as an act of defiance. At first, Linden heard strain in it, effort and constriction: a difficult choice rather than humour. Almost at once, however, two or three and then more of the other Giants joined her; and her laughing loosened until it became untroubled mirth, full of gladness and freedom. Soon all of the Swordmainnir laughed with her, and their voices reached the heavens.

Liand laughed as well, as if he had been released from his cares. Pahni and Bhapa smiled broadly, and Mahrtiir grinned below his bandage. Anele stroked the smooth stone of Coldspray armour and crooned as though he were being cradled. For a time, Longwrath ceased his struggles: his gagged rage fell silent. Stave surveyed them all impassively; but the firelight in his eye hinted at relief.

Linden, too, would have laughed, if she could. The unfettered pleasure of the Giants reassured her. But she did not know what it meant.

Gradually Rime Coldspray subsided. Still chuckling, she said, “Stone and Sea! We are Giants indeed. Though we live and die, we change as little as the permanence that we adore. In spite of our many centuries, we have not yet learned to be other than we are.

“After our children,” she continued, speaking more directly to Linden. “tales are our greatest treasures. But there can be no story without hazard and daring, fortitude and uncertainty. Events and deeds which lack peril seldom enthrall. And joy is in the ears that hear, not in the mouth that speaks. Already you have supplied our most exigent need. You have allowed us to see that our seemingly lost and aimless voyages in Longwrath’s name are but the prelude to a far larger tale.