Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

Instead of defending herself, she asked mildly, as if he had not hurt her, “How did you get that scar on your forehead? I don’t think you ever told me.”

Covenant’s manner or his mood was as labile as Esmer’s. His anger seemed to fade into a brume of springwine. Rubbing at his forehead with his halfhand, he grinned sheepishly. “You know, I’ve forgotten. Isn’t that weird? You’d think I’d remember what happened to my own body. But I’ve been away from myself for so long-” His voice faded to a sigh. “So full of time-” Then he seemed to shake himself. Emptying his flagon with one long draught, he refilled it and set it in his lap again. “Maybe that’s why this stuff tastes so much better than I remember.”

Linden paid no attention to his reply: she heeded only his manner. Deliberately casual, she changed the subject again.

“Esmer mentioned manacles.”

His response was not what she expected. “Exactly,” he sighed as if he were drowsy with drink. “And who do you think they’re for? Not you. Of course not. Those ur-viles are here to serve you.” His tone scarcely hinted at sarcasm. “No, Linden, the manacles are for me. That’s why Esmer brought his creatures here. That’s how they’re going to help their makers. And Foul. By stopping me before we can do what we have to do to save the Land.”

Although she tried to conceal her reaction, she flinched. What she knew of the ur-viles and Waynhim led her to believe that they were her allies, that she could rely on them. But what she knew of Esmer urged doubt. The creatures that had enabled her to retrieve the Staff of Law and reach Revelstone had clearly accepted the newcomers. But if both groups wished to serve her because they felt sure that she would fail the Land-if their real purpose, and Esmer’s, hinged on stopping Covenant-

She could not sustain her detachment in the face of such possibilities. They were too threatening; and the truth was beyond her grasp. She had no sortilege for such determinations. The Demondim-spawn had done so much to earn her trust-If she had not witnessed Esmer’s conflicted treachery, she might have concluded that Covenant was lying.

Trembling inside, she turned away from her former lover. Her lost son was here as well. Even if he, too, blamed her for the Land’s plight, she yearned to talk to him.

He had regained his mind at the cost of more torment than he could describe.

Carefully she leaned the Staff against the wall near the hearth. Although she craved its comforting touch, she wanted to show Jeremiah that he was in no danger from her. Then she took one of the stools and placed it so that she could sit facing him. Leaning forward with her elbows braced on her knees, she focused all of her attention on him; closed her mind to Thomas Covenant.

“Jeremiah, honey,” she asked quietly, intently, “were you shot?”

Jeremiah wrapped his hand around his toy. For a moment, he appeared to consider trying to crush the racecar in his fist; and the pulse at the corner of his eye became more urgent. But then he returned the car to the waistband of his pajamas. Lifting his head, he faced Linden with his soiled gaze.

“You really should ask him , Mom.” Her son nodded toward Covenant. “He’s the one with all the answers.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m just here.”

As if he were speaking to himself, Covenant murmured, “You know, that tapestry is pretty amazing. I think it’s the same one they had in my room the first time I came here. Somehow it survived for seven thousand years. Not to mention the fact that it must have been old when I first saw it.”

Linden ignored the Unbeliever.

“Jeremiah, listen to me.” Intensity throbbed in her voice: she could not stifle it. “I need to know. Were you shot?”

Could she still attempt to save his former life? Was it possible that he might return to the world in which he belonged?

“Maybe they didn’t keep it in the Hall of Gifts,” Covenant mused. “There was a lot of damage when we fought Gibbon. Maybe they stored the tapestry in the Aumbrie. That might explain why it hasn’t fallen apart.”

Jeremiah hesitated briefly before he replied, “I’m not sure. Something knocked me down pretty hard, I remember that. But there wasn’t any pain.” Reflexively he rubbed at the muscle beating in the corner of his eye. “I mean, not at first. Not until Lord Foul started talking-

“It’s strange. Nothing here ”- he pressed both palms against his chest- “hurts. In this time-or this version of reality-I’m fine. But that only makes it worse. Pain is worse when you have something to compare it to-”

Covenant was saying, “That’s Berek there in the centre. The o- rigi -nal Halfhand. He’s doing his “beatitude and striving” thing, peace in the midst of desperate struggle. Whatever that means. And the rest tells his story.”

Linden’s gaze burned. If she could have lowered her defences-if she could have borne the cost of her emotions, any of them-she would have wept. Jeremiah conveyed impressions which made her want to tear at her own flesh for simple distraction, so that she would feel some other suffering than his.

Her voice threatened to choke her as she asked, “Do you know where you are? In that other reality?”

That Queen there,” Covenant explained, “turned against her King when she found out he was human enough to actually like power. And Berek was loyal to her. He fought on her side until the King beat him. Cut his hand in half. After which Berek tried to escape. He ran for Mount Thunder. That scene shows his despair. Or maybe it was just self-pity. And in that one, the FireLions come to his rescue.”

Jeremiah shook his head. “It’s dark.” Like Linden, he seemed to ignore Covenant. “Sometimes there’s fire, and I’m in the middle of it. But there isn’t really anything to see. It could be anywhere.”

“So you don’t know where Lord Foul is?” she insisted. “You can’t tell me where to look for you?’

Until she found him, she could do nothing to end his torture.

“It all started there,” Covenant went on, the whole history of the Lords with their grand ideals and their hopeless mistakes. Even Foul’s plotting started there-in the Land, anyway. Not directly, of course. Oh, he sent out a shadow to help the King against Berek. But he didn’t show himself then. For centuries, the Lords were too pure to feel Berek’s despair. Just remembering Berek’s victories was enough to protect Damelon-and Loric too, at least for a while. Foul couldn’t risk anything overt until Kevin inherited a real talent for doubt from his father. But even that was Foul’s doing. He used the Viles and the Demondim to undermine Loric’s confidence, plant the seeds of failure. By the time Kevin became High Lord, he was already doomed.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Jeremiah’s tone was like his eyes: it suggested solid earth eroded by the irresistible rush of his plight. “I want to help you. I really do. I want you to make it stop. But as far as I know, I just fell into a pit, and I’ve been there ever since. It could be anywhere. Even Covenant doesn’t know where I am.”

Linden clenched herself against the distraction of Covenant’s obscure commentary. She needed all of her strength to withstand the force and sharpness of her empathy for her son.

“Poor Kevin,” Covenant sighed unkindly. “He didn’t recognise Foul because no one in the Land knew who the Despiser was. No one told Berek, and his descendants didn’t figure it out for themselves. While Foul was hard at work in Ridjeck Thome and Kurash Qwellinir, the Lords didn’t even know he existed. Kevin actually let him join the Council, and still no one saw the truth.