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

ease. The purpose of life—if it may be said to have purpose—is not ease. It is to choose, and to act upon the choice. In that task, we are not measured by outcomes. We are measured only by daring and effort and resolve.”
    Jeremiah wanted to insist, It’s not that easy. It’s
not
. But the words died in his mouth. Kindwind had already turned away. Several of the Giants around Cabledarm had turned away. They were gazing up at the spine of the rockfall.
    At Frostheart Grueburn and Latebirth. As Jeremiah caught sight of them, they labored past the crest and began their descent. Between them, they carried a large chunk of stone.
    It resembled a fragment of the monolith. He detected distinct signs of malachite.
    Not seams or veins, delicate trickles. A concentrated lode.
    In an instant, he forgot everything else. Leaving Kindwind, he ran at the slope.
    That was a piece of the slab: it had to be. And its mineral deposit was still intact.
    How big was that sealed lump of green?
    The two Giants came a little way to meet him. Then they set down their burden and straightened their backs, loosened their arms. Before he reached them, he felt their emotions.
    In spite of the gloom, they were bright with vindication.
    “By good fortune,” Grueburn called to her comrades, “the object of Stave Rockbrother’s extravagance contained an admixture of sandstone. When it struck, it broke along its less durable seams. The malachite of its heart was preserved.”
    Jeremiah needed to see for himself. Filling his hands with Earthpower, he clapped them to the surface of the rock; probed inward with all of his senses.
    Then he wheeled away, flung his gaze down the slope toward Stave.
    “You did it! Stave, you
did
it!”
    The former Master knelt with his back to the rockfall. He did not lift his head or turn. He may have sunk so far down into himself that he did not hear.
    Nevertheless he had succeeded.
    Some things were too easy. Accepting failure was one of them.

    or a time, Jeremiah was content to confirm the various locations of his materials, study their shapes, and plan. While he did so, the Giants finished tending Cabledarm’s wounds. Then they rested.
    Eventually Stave stirred. With an air of caution, as if he feared that he might break bones, he looked around at the cratered plain, the crepuscular day. Then he rose to his feet.
    The relieved shouts of the Giants elicited no response. Jeremiah’s gladness he acknowledged with no more than a nod. He gave the impression that he had forgotten speech, or gone beyond it. When he had surveyed the company and the rockfall, the beginnings of Jeremiah’s construct, and perhaps the passage of time, he put a hand to his mouth and whistled.
    While Jeremiah and the Swordmainnir watched him, wondering, Stave waited for Hynyn.
    The stallion came promptly. Although Jeremiah had seen no sign of the star-browed roan earlier, Hynyn appeared as if he had reincarnated himself from the substance of the gloaming. At Stave’s side, he halted; stood patiently while Stave welcomed him by stroking his neck and shoulder. Then, together, they approached the Giants.
    At once, Jeremiah hurried to join Rime Coldspray and her comrades.
    Wavering on his feet, Stave stopped. He seemed to have achieved an unstable victory over his private wounds, one which might become defeat at any unexpected action, any unpremeditated word.
    “You did it,” Jeremiah said again, but hesitantly, unsure of himself in Stave’s presence. “You saved us.”
    You saved me.
    Stave glanced at Jeremiah, then away. He did not meet Coldspray’s gaze. With obvious difficulty, as if language required skills which he had forgotten or misplaced, he said, “Hynyn will guide you to water. The way is long.” His voice began to fade. “But there is water.”
    In a husky whisper, he added, “My thanks to Cabledarm. Also to Onyx Stonemage.” He made an effort to gather himself. “And to Cirrus Kindwind.”
    Still cautiously, he turned his back. With the elaborate care of a man who feared falling, he walked out onto the plain until he was barely visible. There he knelt again, facing the northwest like a diminished sentinel.
    Hynyn remained with the Giants. Clearly the great stallion understood the promise that Stave had made in his name. He waited for the women to act on it.
    After a brief consultation, Kindwind announced, “With your consent, Ironhand, this task is mine. In the shifting of stones, I am hampered, but the bearing