Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

The scraps of samadhi Sheol’s dark spirit wielded some form of influence among the Sandgorgons. And they had repaid their self-imposed debt. They are done with you. If the skurj could not catch her in time, and Roger’s resources proved useless in Salva Gildenbourne, moksha Raver might reach out to his rent brother-

Linden had made too many mistakes. Acknowledging that the Sandgorgons had honoured their debt was only one of them.

Still Stave reported that the Humbled discerned no sign of pursuit. They saw no dangers ahead.

How far had Grueburn carried Linden from the tor? She could not gauge the distance. The rapid stutter of trees and brush, shade and sunlight, along the western side of the stream confused her. And the foliage occluded any landmarks which might have defined the company’s progress. She was sure only that the sun was falling past midafternoon-and that the Giants could not continue to run like this much longer.

The ragged labour of Grueburn’s respiration was painful to hear. Linden tried to close her mind to it, and failed. She was barely able to stop herself from counting the frantic beats of Grueburn’s heart.

By degrees, however, the current slowed as its flood dissipated. At the same time, the hills on either side gradually seemed to acquire a kind of gentleness. Flowing through softer terrain, the stream became more direct. Still it tended southward across bursts of afternoon sunshine.

Then Linden noticed that Salva Gildenbourne’s unkempt extravagance was changing. By degrees, the constricted throng of trees modulated into a more stately forest, and the undergrowth gave way to unexpected swaths of grass. Stands of twisted jacaranda and crowded mimosa were replaced by comfortable chestnuts, austere elms, nervous birches. The rich gold leaves of the Gilden caught more sunlight and shone like resplendence. At last, the Giants were able to leave the stream and travel unobstructed by water or unseen rocks and holes.

And ahead of the company-

In faint whiffs and suggestions, evanescent savours like caresses, Linden’s nerves found their first taste of Andelain.

She sat up straighter; leaned forward with instinctive eagerness. Was it possible? Had she and her companions come four leagues since their battle on the tor? Without being attacked? She did not know how to believe it: it surpassed all of her expectations. Instinctively she distrusted her senses-and strained to confirm them.

The Andelainian Hills. In some sense, consciously or unconsciously, she had been striving to reach them ever since she had first heard Thomas Covenant’s voice in her dreams; ever since she had begun to imagine that he walked among the Dead.

Linden, find me.

She could be wrong. Surely she was wrong?

Careless of the danger, she drew Earthpower from the Staff to sharpen her health-sense. Her heart swelled with supplications which she could not utter: anticipation, hope, doubt; desire as acute as exultation.

Allusive and enticing, scents came to her: greensward and munificent verdure, air as crisp and sapid as aliantha , wildflowers luxuriating in their abundance. No, she was not wrong. More and more, Salva Gildenbourne became a cathedral forest, solemn and sacral. With every step, the trees verged closer to transubstantiation. Ahead of her, they implied a bedecked panoply clinquant with Gilden sunshine. Grueburn carried her through splashes of declining light toward a woodland vista so numinous and vital that every line was limned with health.

Long ago, during her first approach to the Hills of Andelain, she had feared them. They had appeared to nurture something cancerous, a disease which would destroy her if she walked among them. Later, however, she had learned the truth. Her initial perceptions had been distorted by the Sunbane. Immersed in relentless evil, and unable to control her sensitivity, she had seen sickness everywhere. As a result, she had failed to discern the real source of her dread.

Even then, the Hills were not ill. They could not be: the last Forestal protected them. Her trepidation had arisen, not from Andelain itself, but from the presence of the Dead. Because the Law of Death had been broken-and because Earthpower suffused the Hills-spectres walked in Andelain’s loveliness. Confused by the Sunbane, she had felt their nearness as if they were evil.

Now she knew better. High Lord Elena’s abuse of the Power of Command had made it possible for Covenant’s Dead to speak with him; counsel him. Without their aid, he would not have been able to save the Land. Linden herself had met the shade of Kevin Landwaster and quailed; but even in his unrelieved despair, he had not been evil.

There is hope in contradiction.

Since that time, the Law of Life had been damaged as well. The Land held new possibilities, for good or ill. If the breaking of Laws enabled Joan to spawn caesures , it might also free Linden to accomplish her unspoken purpose.

She approached Andelain with yearning because she had learned to love the Hills-and because she hoped to gain something more precious than reassurance or counsel.

Around her, her companions also beheld what lay ahead of them. Excitement shone in Liand’s eyes, and he gazed past the Swordmainnir eagerly. Near him, Pahni glowed as if her weariness had become a form of enchantment. Even Stave appeared to lift more lightly from stride to stride, strengthened by the prospect of Andelain’s distilled beauty.

As one, the Giants slowed their steps. As if in reverence, they set aside their haste, assumed a more condign gravitas. When they left the last fringes of Salva Gildenbourne and crossed into Andelain, they did so as if they were entering a place of worship. Here was the Land’s untrammelled bounty, as essential as blood, and as profound as orogeny. And they were Giants: instinctively they revelled in largesse.

Together they ascended partway up the first slope and surcease of Andelain’s welcome. There Clyme awaited them calmly, certain that they had passed beyond peril. And there the Giants set down Linden and her friends so that they could walk at last, and feel the air freely, and be eased.

— Loric’s krill was roused from its slumber. Its might wards the Hills. The skurj cannot enter-Kastenessen himself cannot.

Joyfully Bhapa and Pahni threw themselves prostrate on the lush grass, doing homage to Andelain and escape. Mahrtiir knelt with his head bowed to the earth as if he were praying. Liand flung his arms wide and spun in circles, crowing with delight. “Andelain?” he cried. “Oh, Linden! This is Andelain? I could not have believed-!”

Linden wanted to share their joy. She felt as they did, and would have celebrated. But her first concern was for Anele.

Amid the long verdure of the Verge of Wandering, the old man had spoken to her in Covenant’s voice. Among the rich grasses of Revelstone’s upland plateau, he had offered her friends rue and advice. And here every aspect of the tangible world was more -

The hillside glistened with grace, green and lavish. The air was a cleansing ache in her lungs, and the springtime daisies, forsythia, and columbine were as bright as laughter. Every tree spread its leaves in wealth and majesty. The late sunlight offered warmth to soothe the chill of Linden’s damp clothes.

She did not know how Anele would respond. The tonic atmosphere might comfort him. Or he might feel threatened by the inherent health on every side. Or he might be possessed

Galesend had already lowered him to the ground. Now, however, the company had no blankets to protect him.

Suppressing her own reaction to escape and glory, Linden approached the old man. Softly she murmured his name.