Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

“Chosen,” he explained. “you have not revealed your deeper purpose. You have not named your hopes for the unfathomable theurgies which the krill of Loric Vilesilencer will enable. By your own word, you desire those around you to know doubt.

“I do not seek to question you,” he stated before she could respond. “I am content in the knowledge that you are Linden Avery the Chosen, Sun-Sage and Ringthane, companion of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever. To me, you are “acceptable” in all things.

“Yet I am constrained by doubt to inquire if you also are uncertain. Have you not found cause to reconsider your intent?”

Linden stared at him in darkness. The stars shed too little light to unmask his features, and her health-sense could not reach into the mind or emotions of any Haruchai . She was barely able to discern the new skin where she had healed Stave’s burns.

Without inflection, he continued, “We stand now within the safety of Andelain. Here choices may diverge. Other paths lie before you. If you must confront your Dead, you do not require Loric’s krill to do so. And Gravin Threndor may be approached without risk, though hazards wait within the Wightwarrens. It is there-is it not? — that Kevin’s Dirt has its source. Are not Gravin Threndor’s depths conceivable as a hiding place for the Unbeliever’s son, and for your own?”

Linden wanted to cover her face. Jeremiah had built an image of Mount Thunder in her living room, as he had of Revelstone. Eventually she would have to go into the catacombs under the mountain: she knew that. But not yet-

Not while she was still so weak.

“I’m not Covenant,” she answered softly. “I’m not Berek, or some other hero. I’m just me. And I could be wrong. Of course I could be wrong. This whole thing might turn out to be a monumental exercise in futility.” Or something worse- “That’s possible. It’s absolutely possible.”

The breeze seemed to pause as if it wanted to hear her. Andelain itself appeared to hold its breath. In the distance, the voices of the Giants withdrew to a nearly inaudible murmur.

She needed to be doubted because she could not afford to doubt herself.

But I have to have more power. Covenant’s ring is useless whenever Esmer decides to interfere. Kevin’s Dirt hampers Earthpower. If Jeremiah”- oh, my son! — “stood right in front of me, I might not be able to save him. I don’t know how to kill the croyel without killing him. I’m just not that strong.

“And look at who wants to stop me.” She gathered force as she spoke. “Look at who wants to help. Kastenessen and Roger and the Ravers have tried hard to kill us. The ur-viles and Waynhim are united , for God’s sake, even though they’re the last, and too many of them are dead. The Mahdoubt gave up everything to protect me. I must be doing something right.”

“Chosen-” Stave tried to interrupt her, but she was not finished.

“Lord Foul has my son. I’m going to get him back. But first I need more power. ”

“Chosen,” Stave said again more firmly. “Longwrath approaches Andelain.”

Oh, shit. Wheeling, Linden projected her senses toward Salva Gildenbourne.

Almost immediately, she felt Longwrath’s unbridled rage. It was lurid in the darkness, a cynosure of hunger and desperation. The last trees still shrouded him, but he was heading straight toward her with his flamberge in his fists. Evanescent glints like phosphorescence wavered along the edges of his blade as though the iron had been forged to catch and hold starshine.

For the first time, Linden wondered whether his sword might be an instrument of magic. If his weapon had been formed with theurgy as well as fire, however, the effects were no longer perceptible. They had been attenuated by too much time-or they had been designed for circumstances which no longer existed.

The Swordmainnir seemed unaware of Longwrath. They were not done with their caamora : it held them like a geas. The Ramen and Liand remained transfixed by what they witnessed. But the Humbled were already moving, silent as thought.

Surely three Haruchai would suffice to restrain Longwrath until the caamora ended?

Nonetheless Linden tightened her grip on the Staff. Stave walked a little way down the slope to place himself between her and Longwrath.

But Esmer had told her the truth. Andelain is preserved. Suddenly a small piece of night appeared to condense as if something blurred or invisible had come into focus; made itself real. Without transition, a yellow light like the delicate flame of a candle began to dance along the grass. As precise and self-contained as a single note of song, it bobbed some distance beyond the Giants. Yet it conveyed the impression that the distance was irrelevant. If the flame had shone directly in front of Linden, it would have been no larger-and no less vivid.

She recognised it instantly. It was a Wraith: one of the Wraiths of Andelain. She had seen its like before, during that cruel and necessary night when Sunder had slain Caer-Caveral with Loric’s krill so that Hollian could live again. Wraiths had appeared then, dozens of them, hundreds, to mourn the passing of the last Forestal’s music, and to celebrate what Sunder and Hollian had become.

The sight compelled an involuntary gasp from Linden. For a moment, she forgot Longwrath and every peril. The Wraith incarnated Andelain’s eldritch beauty: it entranced her. Its beauty reminded her of loss and resurrection; of broken Law and death that enabled life and victory. And it made Thomas Covenant live again in her mind, her saviour and lover, whose consternation and courage had ruled him as severely as commandments.

I can’t help you unless you find me.

Everything for which she had struggled since her escape from Melenkurion Skyweir was contingent upon him.

Then the moment passed-and the Wraith was not alone. Another appeared near Linden, and another among the Ramen. Exquisite candle flames pranced over the hillside, more and more of them, until at least a score had become manifest.

They seemed to cast a spell over the caamora as they swept down the slope toward Longwrath. Even the Humbled paused as if they were amazed.

As soon as Longwrath’s foot touched the palpable demarcation between Salva Gildenbourne and Andelain, the Wraiths arrayed themselves in front of him. Together they gyred and flared as though they meant to ensorcel his madness.

Linden held her breath. At the edge of the stream, Longwrath hesitated. Yellow warmth illuminated his confusion. Other beings also act in Andelain’s defence. Although they exerted no magic that Linden could detect, the Wraiths formed a barrier against Longwrath’s craving for death.

Then he roared in defiance and charged at the lucent denial of the flames-

— and staggered as if he had collided with a wall. In some fashion that baffled Linden, he was shoved back. Each Wraith was a note, and together they formed a lush chord of rejection. As they danced, they looked small and frail; easily plucked from the air. Yet they refused Longwrath despite his size and strength.

His rage scaled higher as he charged again. The Wraiths took no visible notice of him. They merely swirled, bright and lovely, and self-absorbed as stars, as though they had no purpose except to be themselves: the simple fact of their existence summed up their significance. Nonetheless they repulsed Longwrath so firmly that he nearly fell.

Now he cut at them with his sword. His flamberge wove and slashed among the flames as if its dance might equal theirs. But his vehemence could not touch the Wraiths. They only flickered and burned, and were unharmed.