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

nothing more that Jeremiah could do to prepare or build. He could only search. And dawn was still three hours away.
    Increasingly alarmed, he scrambled up and down the rockfall, moving with less assurance and more haste; gripped by a fever of trepidation. Over and over again, he told himself to slow down. He could not probe the slope deeply or accurately while he was hurrying. But he seemed to feel jaws snapping at his back, fangs wet with venom and malice, rabid agony. Memories—At any moment, they might catch him.
    If he failed now, he would not deserve anything that Linden had done for him.
    A slap of wind caught him rushing from one boulder to another. His foot missed its step as if the solidity of the world had faded. Without warning, the entire rockfall seemed to stand on its side. Then he plunged.
    In an instant, realities transposed their definitions. Through the darkness, he saw as clearly as prescience that all of his conflicts and confusions would be resolved when his head smashed itself open on that looming jut of granite,
that
one. He was falling too hard to twist aside. But now he understood that being overtaken by his fears was not the worst possible outcome. Even a retreat to his graves was not the worst. Anything could be destroyed, anything at all, by a senseless, childish accident.
    Then Stave caught his arm, swung him out of danger so suddenly that Jeremiah did not recognize Stave’s grasp until Stave had settled him on a canting shelf of basalt. He did not feel the tight hurt of Stave’s fingers until the first wildness of his heartbeat began to subside.
    He was panting as though he had lost a race.
    “Chosen-son,” Stave said like a man who had seen nothing, done nothing, “you appear troubled to my sight. Do not take it amiss that I say so. I am
Haruchai
. Your silence I deem condign. I gauge that you have concealed naught which may alter the choices of your companions. What purpose, then, is served by speech? Nonetheless you are mortal, as I am. And at the side of the Chosen your mother, I have learned that it is not shameful to request or receive aid. Therefore I will hear if you wish to speak.”
    Jeremiah was breathing too hard to think clearly. Mom wanted him to talk. Grueburn wanted him to talk. They wanted to probe horrible memories, expose parts of him that bore the marks of the
croyel
and the Despiser. Of course he refused. But now he knew that there were worse things than failure.
    He had in fact concealed something that might have affected Linden’s choices. She did not understand the dark core of Anele’s legacy.
    The former Master had promised to watch over him. To keep him safe.
    “Stave—” he began thickly. “They don’t know. I’m so afraid—”
    But he could not continue. The words stuck in his throat.
    What purpose, then, is served—? His mother was already gone.
    While Stave waited impassively, Jeremiah wrestled his demons into their familiar shapes.
    “I’m afraid this is all wasted.” He gestured awkwardly around him. “There’s a piece I need, and I can’t find it. Without it, nothing else counts.”
    Stave lifted an eyebrow. “What is it that you require, Chosen-son?”
    Jeremiah swallowed a groan. “A lump of malachite. About this big.” He put his fists together. “And it pretty much has to be pure. But all I’ve got are traces. That whole ridge probably doesn’t have any pure malachite big enough to save the
Elohim
.”
    Stave scanned the slope as though it did not interest him. “Perchance it does not,” he remarked. “We cannot be certain until we have searched with greater care. Also it may be that the surface of the rockfall conceals its depths. I will accompany you until you are confident of your perceptions. If no hope is found, then mayhap we would do well to delve within the rubble.
    “I see no cause for concern”—he may have meant despair—“until we have done our utmost. And even then, the lore of our companions may devise possibilities which elude us.”
    Jeremiah stifled a protest. He wanted to say, That isn’t going to work. All of us together can’t move this many rocks fast enough. But Stave’s uninflected calm seemed to refuse objections.
    How could he be right? He did not share Jeremiah’s fears.
    He was
Haruchai
. He had sacrificed his place among his people to stand with Linden. How could he be wrong?
    After a moment, Jeremiah nodded reluctantly. “Sure. Why not? What else are we going to do?”
    Bracing