Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

“Since that moment, however, the Words have gone from you. You recall them only in dreams, and when you awaken, naught but sorrow remains.

“Is this not sooth, my lord?”

Berek nodded as if he were unaware of the movement. His troubled awe revealed that the Theomach was right.

“Then heed me well.” Now the Insequent’s tone took on a gravitas that compelled attention. Even the light appeared to condense around him, as if the lamps and the braziers and the very air were listening. “The Words were Seven, and they are these.

“The first is melenkurion , which signifies bastion or source. The second is abatha , suggesting endurance, or the need for endurance. Third is duroc , a reference to Earthpower, the substance of the fire which the lady wields. Fourth comes minas , which also means Earthpower, but in another sense. It indicates Earthpower as a foundation rather than as a form of theurgy.”

As he spoke, each Word seemed to resonate and expand until it strained the fabric of the tent. “The fifth Word is mill , which cannot be defined in human speech, but which implies invocation. The sixth, harad , may be understood as a stricture against selfishness, tyranny, malice, or other forms of despair. It binds the speaker to make no use of Earthpower which does not serve or preserve the munificence of creation. And last is khabaal , to which many meanings may be ascribed. In your mouth, it is an affirmation or incarnation of your sworn oath to the Land.”

The Theomach paused as if to let Berek-or perhaps Linden-absorb his revelation. They were silent. Echoes filled Linden’s ears: she felt the potency of the Words ramify around her, multiplied toward horizons that lay beyond her comprehension. They encompassed possibilities which were too vast for her.

She had never heard Covenant mention the Seven Words. But the Theomach had just restored them to Berek’s conscious mind. Surely they had not been lost before Covenant’s first translation to the Land?

They had been given to her as well-

A moment later, the Theomach said. “This tongue is spoken nowhere, other than by one race that I scorn to name, for it is the language of the Earth’s making and substance rather than of the Earth’s peoples. Yet it may be discovered, word by word, by those who seek deeply for knowledge-and who do not wish to bend or distort that knowledge for their own ends.”

Then, unexpectedly, he turned to Linden. She could not see his expression through his bindings. Nevertheless she received the clear impression that he sought to sway her as much as to convince Berek.

“Aloud,” he said distinctly, “the Seven Words are spoken thus. Melenkurion abatha. Duroc minas mill. Harad khabaal. ”

Before he had pronounced ten syllables, the Staff of Law burst into flame. With each Word, the fire mounted until it enclosed her in conflagration: power gentle as a caress, entirely without hurt or peril, and jubilant as a paean. Soon the whole tent was full of blazing like joy and rebirth, exuberance and restoration: the true vitality of Law.

Some part of Linden clung to it, revelling in its exaltation. It resembled the gift of vitrim and the benison of Glimmermere, the tang of aliantha and the sovereign gold of hurtloam; the Land’s limitless potential for glory. However, another aspect of her was mortal and afraid. The Words were distilled puissance. She had not chosen them, and could not hope to control their implications.

Reflexively she strove to quell the flames-and as soon as she did so, they fell away. Without transition, the fire was quenched, leaving her to the truncated insight of the lamps and braziers.

Within herself, she staggered at the suddenness of the change. When she remembered to look at her companions, she saw that Berek was both stunned and eager. He seemed unable to comprehend what he had heard and seen-and yet he had been lifted up in spite of his bafflement. A long burden of bereavement had fallen from his shoulders; and for a few moments, at least, fanged loss no longer gnawed at his spirit.

The Theomach watched her and Berek with apparent satisfaction. Are you content, my lord?” he asked as if he were sure of the answer. Will you now accept my companionship, that I may aid and tutor you?”

Shuddering with effort, Berek mastered himself. When he had swallowed several times to clear his throat, he said hoarsely. “My gratitude is certain. I will say more when my lady has assured me that she is unharmed.”

Linden could not rival his self-command; but she replied as clearly as she could, “Look at me, my lord. You can see. I’m as surprised as you are.” And she wanted to weep with regret at her own weakness. “But I’m not hurt.”

Slowly Berek nodded. “Yes, my lady Linden. I am indeed able to discern that you are whole. Therefore I will say to the Theomach”- still slowly, he turned to the Insequent as if each small movement cost him an exertion of will- “that my gratitude is certain, but my acceptance remains in doubt. One further glimpse of your knowledge will content me.”

The Theomach waited, motionless; but whether he intended to acquiesce or refuse, Linden could not determine.

With rigid care, Berek said, “You spoke of the munificence of creation. Will you name that munificence? Wherein does it lie? What is its nature? What does it portend? If these Seven Words will bind me, I must know that to which I will be bound.”

“Life,” replied the Theomach simply. “Growth. Enhancement.” Then he added in a tone like an apology. “You will understand, my lord Berek, that neither I nor anyone may grasp the mind of this world’s Creator. The needs and desires of that which is eternal surpass finite comprehension. Yet I deem that the Earth, and within it the Land, were formed as a habitation where living beings may gaze upon wonderment and terror, and seek to emulate or refuse them. The Earth and the Land are a dwelling-place where life may discover the highest in itself, or the lowest, according to its desires and choices.”

Berek frowned, not in disapproval or chagrin, but in intense consideration. For a long moment, he regarded the Theomach as though he strove to penetrate the stranger’s secrets with his burgeoning health-sense. Then he asked over his shoulder, “My lady Linden, do you conceive that the Theomach speaks sooth?”

His question startled Linden, and she answered without thinking, “I don’t care.” If she had paused for thought, the sheer weight of his query would have sealed her voice in her throat. “I want it to be true. So do you. Isn’t that what matters?” Who was she to articulate the meaning of life? “Isn’t it the only thing that matters?”

Berek growled in the back of his throat, a wordless sound fraught with both recognition and uncertainty. Still studying the Insequent, he announced formally, “Then I will say to my lord Theomach that I accept your companionship. Both aid and guidance will I greet with welcome. A man who speaks as you have done must be heeded, whatever his intent may be.”

The Theomach responded with a bow and a salute, tapping his fist to his chest in homage. Interfering with Covenant’s designs, he had gained what he wanted for himself. Inadvertently Linden had helped him win a measure of Berek’s trust.

Having made his decision, however, Berek did not hesitate to move on. “Now you will leave us,” he informed his new counsellor. “I must speak with my lady Linden alone.”

Oh, God. Linden flinched. Abruptly the entire space of the tent seemed to become a pitfall: she felt beset by snares which she did not know how to avoid. In this circumstance, her mind cannot be distinguished from the Arch of Time. One wrong word-