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

as guardians in the Creator’s stead. Must it transpire that beauty and truth shall pass utterly when we are gone?
    He had understood that she had no reply. Nevertheless he had spared her. He had seen something in her,
the mark of fecundity and long grass
.
And the sigil of the Land’s need has been placed upon her
. What sigil? For all she knew, then or now, he had referred to the bullet hole in her shirt. Or to the healed wound in her hand where the
croyel
had stabbed her. Still she had felt compelled to promise an answer.
    But long ago—millennia later in the Land’s life, a decade earlier in Linden’s—when she and Covenant had first met Caer-Caveral in Andelain—when the guardian who had once been Hile Troy had sacrificed himself against the Law of Life—he had been the last Forestal. By that time, Caerroil Wildwood had passed away. All of the Upper Land’s ancient forests had been destroyed by the Sunbane.
    “My God, Mahrtiir.” Inferences linked themselves into language as rapidly as she could speak. “This must be hundreds of years after I met Caerroil Wildwood,” after the Mahdoubt had saved her. “It must be before the Clave. Before the Sunbane.”
    The kingdom against which Berek Halfhand had waged his war was not a desert.
    Hyn and Narunal had known what they were doing. Here she was in no danger of confronting the Forestal before her first encounter with him.
    “That is well,” averred Mahrtiir. “Alas, to their shame the Ramen have no tales of events in the Land after the onset of the Sunbane. I must believe that Caerroil Wildwood perished striving against that abomination.”
    “No,” Linden said at once. Covenant had learned the truth from the Clave. He had told her. “He passed earlier. Before the Sunbane.”
    The Manethrall’s surprise was plain. “Then how was he brought to his end?”
    She bit her lip again. “I’m not sure. It had something to do with the destruction of the first Staff of Law.” Then she hurried on. “But at least now we know
when
we are—approximately, anyway. Caerroil Wildwood is still alive. He may recognize me. If he doesn’t, he’ll recognize his runes. We have a chance.”
    She had intended to address her appeal to Caer-Caveral; but she saw now that Hyn and Narunal understood her needs, and the Land’s, better than she did. What had she expected of Andelain’s Forestal? Had she truly imagined that meeting her before her proper time would not affect his later decisions?
    In
this
time, here and now, she was in no danger of burdening Caer-Caveral with knowledge which he had not earned. The Ranyhyn had spared her a potentially catastrophic miscalculation.
    “Thus,” the Manethrall observed proudly, “Hyn and Narunal vindicate their wisdom once again.” Then he admitted, “Yet queries remain. Are you able to summon the Forestal? To attract his notice is both perilous and necessary. And will he heed your desires? If the tales are sooth, Caerroil Wildwood will not grant a kindly hearing. Even in the days of dark Grimmerdhore, Garroting Deep was deemed the most wrathful of the forests. You have encountered this Forestal and lived—aye, and were given ambiguous boons. Do you conclude therefore that he will bestow the knowledge you seek, though you wish to preserve a world in which he does not exist? Neither he nor any Forestal?
    “Ringthane, if you are able to gain his heed, how will you sway him?”
    How may life
endure in the Land
—?
    Linden watched birds soar like questions among the trees. Beyond them, Garroting Deep brooded over its innumerable wounds and grievances, its savage hungers. Winds from the mountains which walled Cravenhaw on both sides did nothing to soften the heat swelling from the south. Already sweat gathered at the corners of her eyes. Dampness trickled down her spine.
    “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Caerroil Wildwood gave me his runes for a reason, and I don’t think that it was just because I needed help. It had something to do with the question he asked me. He knew that I couldn’t answer it, but he wanted an answer anyway. Maybe his runes were part of the question. Or he hoped that they might be part of the answer.”
    Mahrtiir considered her for a moment. Then he nodded with an air of renewed anticipation. “For us, then, only the simpler query remains. How will you attract the Forestal’s notice? He is said to be an imperious being, mighty and impatient withal, having good cause to loathe humankind. Also