The Last Dark: The climax of the entire Thomas Covenant Chronicles (Last Chronicles of Thomas Cove)

It’s all been damaged. But back
then
, when there are still Forestals, everything is intact. How can you make another
caesure
that long ago? Just trying, you’ll change the Land’s history. Even if that doesn’t break the Arch, you’ll hurt it.”
    Desperately he finished, “We’ll never see you again.”
    His wounds were so close to the surface that Linden could almost name them.
    And she understood his objection. It was apt in more ways than he appeared to recognize. If she reached the Forestals, her arrival would inevitably afflict them with knowledge—or at least questions—which they should not possess. That alone might do irreparable harm to the Arch.
    Yet she had an answer. “Then I won’t go back to the oldest Forestals. I’ll try to reach Caer-Caveral.” Hile Troy. “He was the last. Meeting me won’t affect any of the others. And in his time, the Law of Death was already broken. He’s about to break the Law of Life himself. I won’t change his history.”
    Surely Hyn could find her way through a
caesure
to Caer-Caveral?
    “In any case,” she said, “what else do you want me to do? I’m useless here. I’m useless to you. I don’t understand your talent, and I can’t carry boulders. My only alternative is to supply the Giants with strength until they work themselves to death—and
that
I can’t bear.
    “I know it’s dangerous,” she concluded. She was running out of words. “But I’ll get back somehow. Hyn will bring me.”
    Neither her manner nor her appeal comforted her son: she saw that. He felt threatened, rejected. Forsaken when he finally had a chance to prove himself. He no longer looked at his mother. One finger at a time, he unclosed his fists. Then he spread his hands to reveal small gusts of fire cupped in his palms.
    “You can say what you want.” In the gloom, the stains on his pajama bottoms seemed to devour his legs. “Talking won’t help. I have more important things to do.”
    Lit by Earthpower, he turned away.
    The sight twisted a knife in Linden’s heart. She needed the kind of courage that Thomas Covenant had tried to teach her. But she did not have it, and he was not here.
    Grueburn and the other Swordmainnir squirmed. Rime Coldspray scowled thunderous disapproval at the dirt. The Manethrall’s bandaged attention did not leave Linden’s face.
    Leaning against her boulder, she waited for their reactions. She had chosen this crisis for herself. Come good or ill—
    How often had she heard those words?
    They were better than despair.
    Finally the Ironhand raised her head. Gloaming veiled her mien, but it did not conceal the set of her jaw or the lines of her shoulders. Without preamble, she asked, “Swordmainnir, will you gainsay me?”
    Her tone was like the edge of her glaive.
    As if they knew her mind, Latebirth, Onyx Stonemage, and Halewhole Bluntfist muttered, “Nay.” The others shook their heads. With both fists, Frostheart Grueburn punched lightly at the earth to emphasize her answer.
    “Then,” Coldspray announced harshly, “I say to you, Linden Avery, Giantfriend, that you are a wonderment. I speak with respect—aye, and with admiration as well, though my manner belies the fullness of my heart. That your intent is foolhardy beyond all reckoning cannot be doubted. Indeed, it appears to be as extreme as a leap into the abyss of She Who Must Not Be Named. Nonetheless you raise my spirits. In such times, all deeds must be extreme. The Earth’s need requires it.
    “Therefore my word to you is this. My comrades will give of their utmost to aid young Jeremiah, for his purpose is likewise admirable. Stave of the
Haruchai
and I will accompany you, doing what we may in your service.”
    The other Giants nodded their approbation. Some of them started to applaud. But Stave cut them off. Peremptory as a challenge, he stated, “I will not. My place is with the Chosen-son. And he will have need of your aid, Rime Coldspray, your labor and stonelore. You cannot be spared.”
    Quick protests gathered in the Swordmainnir. Before any of them could speak, Stave declared, “Yet some companion she must have. Should she attempt this quest alone, she will not return. In the absence of High Lord Loric’s
krill
, she cannot wield white gold while she holds the Staff of Law. The conflict of such theurgies must prove fatal.”
    At once, Manethrall Mahrtiir surged like a shout to his feet. “Then this task is mine. It was foretold for me by the Timewarden