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

Giants, I am prized for the purity and pathos of my moans.”
    “I don’t believe you,” snorted Jeremiah. Carried on a rise of anticipation, he tried to emulate his companions. With gibes, the Swordmainnir refreshed their spirits: he saw that. Now he wanted to participate. “You’ve probably never moaned in your whole life.”
    “Latebirth has not,” Grueburn asserted while the other Swordmain chuckled. “She is entirely dour. But I am capable, I do assure you, of the most extravagant and heart-rending moans.”
    “Enough, I implore you!” pleaded Latebirth. “Young Jeremiah’s ears will bleed if you proceed to a demonstration.” More soberly, she added, “And we have consented to speak of Longwrath.”
    “Yet time remains to us,” Frostheart Grueburn countered. “When I regard the approach of the Worm, the hours appear as brief as heartbeats. But when I contemplate the exertions before us, mere moments are protracted to the horizons and beyond. If we lack time sufficient to speak at leisure, we also lack time for our task. Haste will gain naught.”
    Latebirth grunted glum acquiescence. In silence, the two Giants accompanied Jeremiah to the span of ground where he proposed to build.
    “Here,” he announced at the edge of his goal. With a gesture, he asked Grueburn and Latebirth to halt. “I’ll mark out dimensions. If we don’t pile rocks inside that space, they won’t be in the way later.”
    Latebirth scanned the area, muttered something that he did not hear. His attention had shifted. Images flared in his mind, becoming more explicit as he estimated shapes and masses, ratios of malachite, necessary boundaries. Stooping, he selected a fragment of basalt with a sharp point. For a moment longer, he studied the ground. When he was sure, he began gouging lines in the dirt.
    Four paces for a Giant straight toward the ridgefront. Five parallel to the spill of rubble. Four more to form the third side of a precise rectangle. And a line along the northwest to close the space. There he interrupted his marks to suggest a gap. Eventually that gap would become an entryway.
    While Jeremiah outlined his construct, Frostheart Grueburn began.
    “Speaking of Lostson Longwrath is hurtful to us,” she said gruffly. “The fault of his plight lies with our forebears. From them, we inherit a shame which we do not bear lightly. For that reason, and because your kind is born to brevity, and because we must conserve our strength, I will be concise.”
    “Concise, forsooth,” scoffed Latebirth. “Already you falter in your intent.”
    Grueburn ignored her comrade. “Young Jeremiah,” she went on, “Longwrath’s plight shares much with your former state.”
    Jeremiah flicked a startled glance toward her. But his task held him, and he did not pause.
    “He is possessed,” she explained. “Forces which he did not choose and could not refuse have deprived him of himself. In the name of a foolish and unheeding bargain with the
Elohim
, he is ruled by a
geas
both cruel and minatory. Where he was once a Swordmain honored among us, he has become a madman bent on murder.
    “And he is lost in another sense as well.” Grueburn’s tone was as personal as a plea. “Though we were his guardians and caretakers, he was separated from us. Now we know not where he wanders, or indeed whether he yet lives. Nor do we know what form his
geas
has taken. He failed in his first compulsion. Has he now been released? Is some new atrocity required of him? It is possible that Infelice might have answered us, had we inquired of her in Andelain. But we were consumed by our shame—aye, and also by our wrath. We did not think to inquire.
    “Whatever the burden he now bears may be, he was consigned to it by our thoughtlessness as much as by the
Elohim
.”
    Jeremiah tried not to listen. Grueburn raised too many echoes. They were as insistent as the erratic buffeting of the wind. But unlike the wind, they did not hurry past him. Instead they squirmed like crimes in the background of his mind.
    He should not have asked about Longwrath.
    Nevertheless he surprised himself by demanding when he meant to remain silent, “What’s your point?”
    Some denied part of him wanted an answer.
    His companions regarded him gravely. After a moment, Grueburn replied, “My point, young Jeremiah, is that Longwrath’s madness and pain do not foretell your doom. There is this difference between you. You were taken. He was bartered in a witless