Read Online The Last Dark: The climax of the entire Thomas Covenant Chronicles (Last Chronicles of Thomas Cove) by Stephen R. Donaldson - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen R. Donaldson
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When she and Stave had gone beyond earshot of the Giants and her son, she asked him quietly, “Why do you think they did it?”
“Linden?” the former Master inquired with as much gentleness as his dispassion allowed.
“Why did the
Elohim
leave those bones where the Ranyhyn could find them? If they’re so afraid of Jeremiah? They can move through time. The Theomach told me that. So did Esmer. They could have known that Jeremiah would need those bones. And they had the whole Earth to choose from. Why did they pick the Lower Land?”
Why did they make possible a fate that they abhorred and then try to prevent it?
Stave shrugged. “Mayhap they did not foresee him.” Then he added, “Their belief that they are equal to all things deludes them. They cannot perceive their own misapprehensions. How otherwise did they fail to foresee that you would permit ur-Lord Covenant to retain his white gold ring when you had become the Sun-Sage? Their fear of the Unbeliever’s power and resurrection blinded them to other paths.”
By slow increments, Linden began to relax. Stave’s answer sounded reasonable. If nothing else, it implied that comprehension was attainable.
As far as she was concerned, the
Elohim
had been wrong about her from the first.
Before long, the
Haruchai
brought her to a small pool among the mounded hillocks. It was too shallow to let her immerse herself, had no virtue to assoil her sins; but it offered her enough water to scrub at the worst of her dirt and doubt. When Stave had assured her that he would stand watch somewhere out of sight, he faded soundlessly into the night, and she was alone.
Kneeling among the stones and sand at the pool’s edge, she placed the Staff of Law beside her; lowered her face into the cold tang of the water. As long as she could hold her breath, she dragged her fingers through her hair and rubbed hard at her scalp. After that, she unbuttoned and dropped her shirt, removed her boots and socks, took off her grass-marked jeans.
Alone with the stars, she did what she could to remove the stains of sweat and strain and dust and blood from her skin. With cold clean water, she tried to scour the soilure from her thoughts. Then she tossed her clothes into the pool and beat them like a woman who wanted to pound away every reminder that she was vulnerable to despair.
hen she returned—sodden, dripping, and chilled—to her friends, she had not been made new. Her many taints had been ground too deeply into her to be simply washed away. Her runed Staff remained darkest black. If she raised fire from the wood, her flames of Earthpower and Law would be black as well, indistinguishable from the world’s night. And there was an ache of apprehension in the ground that did not allow her to forget that her company and the Land and all of life were in peril. Nevertheless she had begun to feel the need for rest. And she knew that she was hungry.
“You look better,” Jeremiah pronounced. “I know how you like being clean.” Then he snorted a soft laugh. “I mean, I can guess. You sure gave me enough baths.”
Linden answered by wrapping him in a long, wet hug. She had no other way to express what she felt.
In her absence, the Giants had set out a meal for her: cheese, dried fruit, a bit of stale bread and some cured meat. Embracing Jeremiah, her nerves assured her that he had already eaten. Now she felt a tide of drowsiness rising in him. While she held him, he stifled a yawn.
“Mom. You’re shivering.”
Cold and over-wrought nerves had that effect, in spite of the heat clinging to the Spoiled Plains.
“You’re right.” Reluctantly she released him. “Low blood sugar. I must be hungrier than I thought. Why don’t you find a place to lie down while I eat something?” Smiling crookedly, she added, “If you’re still awake when I’m done, you can tell me a bedtime story. I want to hear more about your visits to the Land.” She particularly wished to hear more about
“Linden?” the former Master inquired with as much gentleness as his dispassion allowed.
“Why did the
Elohim
leave those bones where the Ranyhyn could find them? If they’re so afraid of Jeremiah? They can move through time. The Theomach told me that. So did Esmer. They could have known that Jeremiah would need those bones. And they had the whole Earth to choose from. Why did they pick the Lower Land?”
Why did they make possible a fate that they abhorred and then try to prevent it?
Stave shrugged. “Mayhap they did not foresee him.” Then he added, “Their belief that they are equal to all things deludes them. They cannot perceive their own misapprehensions. How otherwise did they fail to foresee that you would permit ur-Lord Covenant to retain his white gold ring when you had become the Sun-Sage? Their fear of the Unbeliever’s power and resurrection blinded them to other paths.”
By slow increments, Linden began to relax. Stave’s answer sounded reasonable. If nothing else, it implied that comprehension was attainable.
As far as she was concerned, the
Elohim
had been wrong about her from the first.
Before long, the
Haruchai
brought her to a small pool among the mounded hillocks. It was too shallow to let her immerse herself, had no virtue to assoil her sins; but it offered her enough water to scrub at the worst of her dirt and doubt. When Stave had assured her that he would stand watch somewhere out of sight, he faded soundlessly into the night, and she was alone.
Kneeling among the stones and sand at the pool’s edge, she placed the Staff of Law beside her; lowered her face into the cold tang of the water. As long as she could hold her breath, she dragged her fingers through her hair and rubbed hard at her scalp. After that, she unbuttoned and dropped her shirt, removed her boots and socks, took off her grass-marked jeans.
Alone with the stars, she did what she could to remove the stains of sweat and strain and dust and blood from her skin. With cold clean water, she tried to scour the soilure from her thoughts. Then she tossed her clothes into the pool and beat them like a woman who wanted to pound away every reminder that she was vulnerable to despair.
hen she returned—sodden, dripping, and chilled—to her friends, she had not been made new. Her many taints had been ground too deeply into her to be simply washed away. Her runed Staff remained darkest black. If she raised fire from the wood, her flames of Earthpower and Law would be black as well, indistinguishable from the world’s night. And there was an ache of apprehension in the ground that did not allow her to forget that her company and the Land and all of life were in peril. Nevertheless she had begun to feel the need for rest. And she knew that she was hungry.
“You look better,” Jeremiah pronounced. “I know how you like being clean.” Then he snorted a soft laugh. “I mean, I can guess. You sure gave me enough baths.”
Linden answered by wrapping him in a long, wet hug. She had no other way to express what she felt.
In her absence, the Giants had set out a meal for her: cheese, dried fruit, a bit of stale bread and some cured meat. Embracing Jeremiah, her nerves assured her that he had already eaten. Now she felt a tide of drowsiness rising in him. While she held him, he stifled a yawn.
“Mom. You’re shivering.”
Cold and over-wrought nerves had that effect, in spite of the heat clinging to the Spoiled Plains.
“You’re right.” Reluctantly she released him. “Low blood sugar. I must be hungrier than I thought. Why don’t you find a place to lie down while I eat something?” Smiling crookedly, she added, “If you’re still awake when I’m done, you can tell me a bedtime story. I want to hear more about your visits to the Land.” She particularly wished to hear more about
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