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

contradicting or challenging him, she consulted the ineffable ramifications of her bells and Linden’s daring and his construct.
    He bit his lip; tried not to hold his breath. He had done what he could. If Infelice turned her thoughts now to what she had called
the worst evil
, nothing that he had done—nothing that he might say—would satisfy her.
    Abrupt gusts broke free around the
Elohim
. Winds like the discarded scraps of a hurricane, tattered and imminent, gusted at the Giants, the fane, Jeremiah. Fretted with new grit, they rebounded from the ridge. The plain blurred and ran like a landscape in a mirage. Driven air did not touch Infelice, but it pulled like thorns at Jeremiah’s pajamas, moaned in the gaps between the stones of his construct.
    It was possible that Jeremiah had built hope for everyone else, and had left none for himself.
    Finally Infelice looked at him again. For the first time, he heard regret in her voice.
    “You have exceeded our conceptions of you. This I confess freely, though it humbles me. Yet one threat remains unaddressed. Your companions have named you Chosen-son. I do so also. Yet you are chosen of a-Jeroth as you are of the Wildwielder. I have spoken of his desire to accomplish absolute evil. Chiefly for that reason, he has endeavored to possess you. He will do so again.
    “You have completed your fane.” The music of her bells became sharper. It cut against the winds. “Your part in the world’s doom is done. For the Earth’s sake, and for Creation’s, I must now slay you.”
    Her words shocked the Giants. They hit Jeremiah hard even though he had expected them. He had no defense.
    “I am loath to do so,” admitted Infelice. “Yet I cannot otherwise forestall a-Jeroth. The Worm will feed, or it will not. The Arch of Time will fall, or it will not. Still the Despiser will make use of your gifts. From your heart and passion and youth and weakness, he will devise imprisonment for the Creator. He will put an end to the very possibility of Creation. Only your death will prevent his eternal triumph.”
    Jeremiah stared at her; said nothing. Simply standing his ground required everything within him, his most intense love and his bitterest darkness.
    He had inherited too much from Anele.
    But Cirrus Kindwind rose to her feet. She spoke for him. With gems reflecting in her eyes, she said, “You forget,
Elohim
, though you are the highest of your kind. The Chosen-son is not alone.”
    “He is not,” Rime Coldspray affirmed. She sounded as hard as a fist. “Doubtless you discount his companions. And in this you are perchance correct. Our striving in your name has weakened us. We cannot oppose you.” In spite of her weariness, her voice hit and tore as if its knuckles were studded with spurs. “Nor do I name the Timewarden, whose deeds and purposes remain unknown to us. But having misesteemed young Jeremiah, will you now compound your error? Have you forgotten that Linden Avery, Giantfriend and Wildwielder, has proven herself capable of much? Have you forgotten that there is hope in contradiction?
    “No. I will not credit it. You are
Elohim
. You do not forget. Yet one matter lies beyond your comprehension. Being who you are, you have no experience of it. Therefore I will say
this
in the teeth of all who meditate ill toward the Chosen-son. He has
friends
. The Despiser may well attempt to possess him. If so, that evil will fail. No possession can hold one who does not stand alone.”
    She seemed to mean, One who is loved.
    “Why otherwise,” she concluded, punching home her avowal, “is he now free of the monster which once ruled him? Doubtless foes who relied upon the
croyel
were certain of their designs. Yet here he stands, relieved from mastery, and dedicated to the preservation of beings who abhorred him.”
    Conflicting responses appeared to twist Infelice’s mien. Her raiment fluttered in disarray. At first, Jeremiah thought that she had taken offense; that she would react with wrath and violence. But then he saw her more clearly.
    The sovereign
Elohim
was diminished. Her assurance, her contentment in herself, had received a blow from which she did not know how to recover. The notion of
friends
perplexed her; undermined her. Winds gyred around her like relief and dismay: a conundrum which she appeared unable to resolve.
    But she did not hesitate long. Pressures that surpassed Jeremiah compelled her to a decision. Her voice wore discordant chiming like a funeral