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

came running, waving his arms for attention. His ragged pajamas—soiled with grime and stained by blood—made him look destitute and desperate. Nevertheless he was recovering from Kastenessen’s violation.
    Together, the Giants turned to watch him. Rime Coldspray held up the
krill
.
    He reached the company, jerked to a halt. “You won’t see them,” he panted. Apparently he had heard Grueburn. “It’s just stones. The magic only works on them.”
    A heartbeat later, he flung himself at Covenant, wrapped his arms around the Unbeliever. Suddenly he was crying—and fighting to deny it.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t have a chance. Mom left, and Stave was hurt, and Kastenessen—he—out of nowhere—The
croyel
was bad. He’s worse. Much worse.
    “I am
so
glad to see you.”
    Covenant returned Jeremiah’s hug without hesitation. He ached for that himself; for any embrace if he could not have Linden’s. And he, too, loved the boy.
    He, too, feared for Linden’s son.
    As carefully as he could, he asked, “What did Kastenessen do to you?”
    Jeremiah swallowed a sob; clung harder. “He broke me.”
    Sudden compassion stung Covenant. Deliberately he eased his own clasp until Jeremiah did the same. Then he held the boy at arm’s length, studied every detail of Jeremiah’s mien: the rich brown of his eyes, the passionate mouth, the fine stubble on his cheeks; the lines cut by too much suffering. But he could not discern how deeply Jeremiah’s hurts ran, or how badly he had been marred.
    “How did he do that? What was it like?”
    The question seemed to transform Jeremiah. Ferocity darkened his eyes to the color of rot-laden silt. His mouth stretched, baring his teeth. The lines of his face assumed predatory angles. In an instant, he was no longer a boy confused by his wounds. He had become a young man crowded with bitterness.
    Almost spitting, he snapped, “I’m sorry Infelice let him inside. I’m sorry you didn’t kill him. I want him
dead
. I hate being used, and
I don’t want to talk about it
.”
    His vehemence shocked Covenant. A similar reaction twisted Coldspray’s visage, and Grueburn’s. Branl took a subtle step closer as if he sensed that Covenant was in danger.
    But Covenant stood taller in front of Jeremiah. With a portion of his own ferocity, his rage for the damaged and the outcast, he retorted, “Then hang on to feeling broken. Hang on to the pain. It can be useful. I should know.”
    Then he lowered his voice. “In any case, Kastenessen is different now. Without Kevin’s Dirt, he’s just another victim.”
    Jeremiah looked like he wanted to sink his teeth into Covenant’s throat. “I don’t care.”
    “Chosen-son,” the Ironhand murmured: a reprimand that lacked the strength to insist.
    To himself, Covenant groaned, Oh, Linden. I’m so sorry. Nevertheless he held the boy’s glare without flinching. Severe as a judge, he demanded, “Then tell me something else. Is that temple a prison?”
    He already knew the truth, but he wanted to hear it from Jeremiah. He wanted Jeremiah to acknowledge it. It might help.
    At once, Jeremiah’s fury became chagrin. Without transition, he seemed altogether young and vulnerable. “No!” he cried as if Covenant had slapped him. “I wouldn’t do that. They can get out whenever they want.”
    Ah, hell. Covenant’s relief was so swift that he sagged against Branl. Hell and blood. A host of fears drained out of him before he had managed to name them all. Sure, the boy was in pain. His rage revealed the depth of his wounds. But his distress now was as true as his desire for harm. And he had done what he could to forestall the world’s end.
    As soon as Covenant recovered his balance, he moved to hug Jeremiah again. “Thanks,” he breathed like a sigh at Jeremiah’s ear. “I knew that about you. I just needed to hear you say it.
    “Linden will be so proud we won’t know what to do with her.”
    Jeremiah sobbed again, a small sound like a plea. But he did not stiffen or pull away. Surrendering to Covenant’s hold, he asked fearfully, “Will she make it? Will she come back?”
    He seemed to say, I don’t know who I am without her.
    Covenant knew how he felt. Striving for confidence, he countered, “She’s
your
mother. Has she ever
not
come back?”
    Centuries ago among the Dead in Andelain, High Lord Elena had urged Covenant to take care of Linden,
that in the end she may heal us all
.
    Before Jeremiah could reply, the Ironhand wavered