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

himself on the former Master’s dispassion, he filled his hands with fire. Earthpower might serve to sharpen his health-sense. And if it did not, it might comfort him anyway.
    Together Jeremiah Chosen-son and Stave of the
Haruchai
began the tedious task of scrutinizing the rockfall from every angle.

    or Jeremiah, time crept by in an ocean surge of frustration, inexorable as a tide, rising and falling from one moment to the next, but always climbing higher. An accumulating sense of futility lured his attention into darker places. His flames changed nothing, and he let them go; immersed himself once more in the world’s darkness. Occasionally his heart rose at the glimpse of a deposit. When he saw that the amount of malachite was too small, his spirit sank again.
    But Stave was always at his side, always calm—and steadier than Jeremiah’s pulse. Over and over again, Jeremiah swallowed his alarm and kept going for no better reason than because Stave was with him.
    Stealthy as betrayal, dawn came closer; and still Jeremiah could not find what he sought. An hour before the moment when the sun should have risen, he and the
Haruchai
completed the first stage of their search. They had looked everywhere. They had looked at everything. Now nothing remained except the imponderable labor of digging into the rockfall.
    High up on the slope, Jeremiah collapsed on a slab of granite with his elbows propped on his knees and his face hidden in his hands. He was tired now, worn out by defeat. Everything that felt like excitement or hope had drained out of him. No doubt Stave would go on searching. Jeremiah could not.
    The
Haruchai
remained standing nearby, glancing here and there with apparent unconcern. He may have been waiting for Jeremiah to recover. After a few moments, however, he said, “Set aside discouragement, Chosen-son. Hope remains.”
    The flatness of his tone made him sound reproachful.
    Jeremiah jerked up his head. As aggrieved as a child, he burst out, “It does not! We’ve looked everywhere! And I don’t care what you say about taking this rubble apart. Sure, we can look deeper that way. But we only have eight Giants—and
they
don’t have any food. They’ll have to shove rocks out of the way for
days
while they starve. The world is going to end, and it’ll break Mom’s heart, and we’ll still be here just digging!”
    “Softly, Chosen-son,” Stave replied as if he were commenting on the condition of Jeremiah’s pajamas. “The time has not come to rouse the Swordmainnir. Doubtless they would answer your urging, but we have no cause to summon them. In one respect, you are mistaken. We have not extended our search to its boundaries.”
    Jeremiah stared. He wanted to shout something vicious, but Stave’s manner stopped him. Briefly his mouth and throat worked without producing a sound. Then he asked hoarsely, “What’re you talking about?”
    “Chosen-son,” Stave stated without hesitation, “you have not turned your gaze upward.”
    Still Jeremiah stared. What, upward? At the stars?
    “Consider the ridge,” explained his companion. “Consider the wound which the Chosen has made. Your discernment exceeds my senses, but to my sight it appears that there is a source of malachite above us.”
    Jeremiah sprang to his feet as if he had been stung, flung his gaze at the source of the rockfall.
    At first, he found nothing except blunt granite, blind basalt. Apparently every bit of green had already fallen.
    But Stave was looking higher, studying the hollow near its ragged upper rim.
    A tall slab stood there, a monolith heavy enough to resist Linden’s detonation. To a quick glance, the stone resembled granite or schist. But when Jeremiah looked harder, he saw that the slab was actually a flawed mix of igneous rock and more porous sandstone supported by rigid shafts of flint.
    And enclosed within the monolith were signs—
    “Really?” he breathed. “Are you sure?”
    Was that his capstone? Exactly what his temple needed?
    If so, it was inaccessible. Completely out of reach. Perhaps Linden could have used her Staff, caused the slab to topple somehow. Her son could not.
    With enough rope—
    The Giants had no rope.
    Scowling, Jeremiah clenched his fists until his fingers ached. “I can’t tell. It’s too far away.” Then he beat his knuckles against his thighs so that his frustration would not erupt into the night. The monolith appeared to lean as if it were taunting him; daring him to believe