Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

As the company halted, Linden recognised the satisfied pride of the Giants, the calm confidence of the Ranyhyn. She tasted Liand’s pleasure and that of the Cords. Indeed, Pahni’s and Bhapa’s gladness was dimmed only by their Manethrall’s clenched, contained sorrow. Linden sensed the depth of Anele’s dreamless slumber, the solidity of Stave’s presence, the ungiving impassivity of the Humbled. But now she shared none of their reactions. Her attention had already gone past the Soulsease.

On the far side of the river, she saw the Harrow.

His relaxed poise as he sat his destrier made it obvious that he was waiting for her.

Linden’s heart thudded as Stave said quietly. “Chosen,” warning her.

What I seek, lady, is to possess your instruments of power.

A moment later, she felt a surge of alarm from Liand. “Heaven and Earth,” he breathed. “He is here? Does he dare to meditate harm in Andelain?”

What I will have, however, is your companionship.

Under his breath, Mahrtiir muttered Ramen curses.

“Mayhap he does not,” suggested Stave. “The Wraiths have permitted him.”

The Harrow could unmake Demondim-spawn with a gesture; an incantation. Did he have the same kind of power over the Wraiths?

Linden shook her head. No. The ur-viles and Waynhim were unnatural creatures. I have made a considerable study of such beings. But the Wraiths were avatars of Earthpower: they flourished among Andelain’s organic largesse. The Harrow’s ability to destroy artificial life did not imply a comparable threat to the Wraiths.

They had accepted his presence as they had accepted Linden’s.

I am able to convey you to your son.

The sight of him transformed her certainty to confusion.

Gritting his teeth, Mahrtiir answered the surprise of the Swordmainnir. Two nights ago, Linden had told them about the Harrow. Now Mahrtiir identified the figure, dun with dusk, on the south bank of the Soulsease. Grimly he repeated what he knew of the ornately caped and clad Insequent.

While the Manethrall spoke, Liand nudged Rhohm to Hyn’s side. “Linden,” he whispered urgently, “what will you do? He covets both your Staff and the white gold ring. Yet he has forsworn coercion.” The Mahdoubt had given up her life to wrest that oath from the Harrow. “And he claims that he can bear you to your son.

“If his word holds, how will he gain his desires? Will you bargain with him to gain passage to your son?”

Esmer and Roger had fought to stop the Harrow; to kill him if they could not remove him from this time. Linden assumed that moksha Raver’s kresh had attacked for the same reason. They wanted to prevent her from reaching Jeremiah.

But Kastenessen could not enter Andelain. The Despiser would not. Perhaps Esmer himself had no power here. Presumably even Roger did not pose a threat. The awakened krill and the Wraiths warded the Hills.

The Harrow was safe. As safe as Linden.

She had nothing to bargain with except her Staff and Covenant’s ring. Could she trade them away now? Abandon her purpose? For Jeremiah’s sake?

What would that accomplish? Without Earthpower and wild magic, she would have nothing to free him from the croyel-

The prospect scattered her thoughts like a gust of wind in dried leaves. She had experienced imponderable rescues, miracles of hope. Caerroil Wildwood had completed her Staff. The Mahdoubt had retrieved her from the Land’s past. And Anele had named other mysteries. Two days ago, he had told her that Morinmoss redeemed the covenant, the white gold wielder. The Forestal sang, and Morinmoss answered.

She needed to believe that she was not done with wonders; that she could accomplish what she had come here to do. That she might find Jeremiah without surrendering any of her strengths. Otherwise she would be helpless to refuse the Insequent.

Now those days are lost.

Instead of answering Liand, Linden turned to Stave.

“Do you know what Anele was talking about?” she asked. “In Salva Gildenbourne, before the Giants found us, he said that Morinmoss “redeemed” Covenant. It was a long time ago. Do you remember? Can you tell me what he meant?”

All vastness is forgotten.

If her query surprised Stave, he did not show it. “There is a tale,” he said carefully. “Some of its aspects are not known. The ur-Lord himself could not recall them clearly. Having eaten amanibhavam, he was held by delirancy for a time, and retained only fragments of what transpired.”

Beyond the trees, the sun sank lower. Its light left the Soulsease, shrouding the Harrow in gloom.

“In the unnatural winter which High Lord Elena had imposed upon the Land,” Stave continued, “wielding the Staff of Law in Corruption’s service, the Unbeliever sought sanctuary in a Ramen covert. But the covert was beset, and he fled. Freezing and alone, he confronted another servant of Corruption. Aided by a Ranyhyn, Lena mother of Elena saved his life. In the attempt, however, Lena perished, and the ur-Lord’s ankle was broken.

“He would not consent to ride the Ranyhyn. Rather he freed them to escape that dire winter.”

“Aye,” Mahrtiir assented. He and the whole company listened to Stave. “So the tale is told among the Ramen.”

“At first,” Stave explained. “he wandered, lost. Yet in some fashion he was guided beyond the Roamsedge into Morinmoss. It appeared to him that he was called by the song of a Forestal-a song which summoned him to the care of an unknown woman.

“There memory failed him. He did not return to himself until his hurts had been healed, both his ankle and his amanibhavam -stricken mind, and the woman lay dead.

“If it is sooth that he was drawn into Morinmoss by a Forestal, and that he was restored at a Forestal’s urging, then it may truly be said that he was ‘redeemed’ by the power of wood and sap and song. Also he was later aided by the brief awakening of the Colossus when he confronted High Lord Elena and was powerless.”

The Giants harkened to Stave with fascination, the Ramen with acknowledgment and approval. The Humbled paid no apparent heed to anything except the crepuscular loom of the Harrow. But Liand chafed at Stave’s explanation. As soon as the former Master was done, he protested. “Linden, I do not comprehend. Often Anele has revealed much which others can not or do not discern. Yet how does this tale pertain to the Harrow?”

Linden felt an obscure relief. Her confusion was fading; dripping away like wave-tossed water from a boulder. There is more in Andelain-and among the Dead-and in your heart-than Lord Foul can conceive. Once again, she discovered that Anele’s eerie utterances had substance. Remember that he is the hope of the Land.

“It doesn’t,” she told Liand. “Not directly.” Everything pertained, the doom of the One Forest and the passing of the Forestals as much as the Mahdoubt’s ruin and Esmer’s conflicted betrayals. “I’m just trying to imagine what a bargain with the Harrow might cost.” She intended to redeem her son at any price-but she also intended to choose that price. “The Wraiths refused Longwrath. But they’re ignoring him . That must mean something.”

There is hope in contradiction.

The Law of Life had been broken in Andelain. Elena had broken the Law of Death among the roots of Melenkurion Skyweir. On both occasions, Covenant had found a way to save the Land.

Rime Coldspray’s voice was a low rumble. “In this, we cannot counsel you. Among us, children are precious beyond description. Both the Swordmainnir and the Giants of Dire’s Vessel have hazarded their lives for Longwrath’s unattained redemption. But you have not named your purpose. Ignorant of what you will attempt, we cannot gauge the import of the Harrow’s presence.”