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

on her feet: she nearly fell. Blinking as if she could no longer focus her eyes, she croaked, “For mercy’s sake, have done with contention. We must rest.”
    “Hellfire,” Covenant growled. During his many experiences with Giants, he had seen them in every extreme of peril and pain; but he had never known them to be utterly exhausted. “What’re we waiting for? You don’t just look tired. You must be half starved.” Where could they have replenished the Ardent’s supplies? “Let’s go lie down.”
    Instead of responding, the Swordmainnir simply turned and trudged toward the fane like women who had come to the end of every desire except the wish for relief. Longwrath they left where he had fallen. After everything that they had done and endured, they were too weak to lament his end.

    nside the edifice, the company found better shelter than Covenant had expected. Though the walls were punctuated with gaps, and the ceiling looked precariously balanced, the winds outside were reduced to a confusion of mild breezes. In addition, the stones retained a suggestion of warmth: an aftereffect of theurgy. There Rime Coldspray returned the
krill
to Branl, and the Giants stretched themselves out like dead women. But they did not sleep immediately. In low voices, wan and necessary, they began to talk, first Cirrus Kindwind, then Latebirth, then Onyx Stonemage. They told Covenant how Linden had broken open the ridge to uncover malachite. Passing the story from one to another, they described the building of Jeremiah’s fane, and the extravagance of Stave’s efforts, and the narrowness of his survival. And when their voices trailed away at last, Jeremiah gave Covenant a condensed version of his escape from his mental ensepulture.
    Among his companions, Covenant sat with his knees hugged to his chest and tried not to rock from side to side like a child in need of solace. He wanted Linden, and had no way to reach her.
    Cabledarm lay shivering as if she were feverish. Shock, Covenant thought. She had fallen hard and badly after deflecting Stave’s plummet. Not for the first time, he felt bewildered by the abilities of the Giants. Saltheart Foamfollower had once walked through lava: a kind of
caamora
, terrible pain and cleansing. Such deeds had come to appear almost normal for Foamfollower’s people. Now Covenant wondered whether the Swordmainnir would be able to leave their present straits behind if they did not first find fire in which to release their sorrow.
    A comparable extravagance seemed normal for the
Haruchai
as well. Covenant could hardly bear to contemplate what Stave had done to help complete Jeremiah’s construct. And the sheer strength of will with which Stave had resisted Infelice for Jeremiah’s sake, and for Linden’s, left Covenant gaping inwardly.
    How was it possible for any ordinary man—or woman—or boy—to live up to the example set by the Land’s other defenders, the natural inhabitants of this world?
    Nonetheless Linden had taken Mahrtiir into the Land’s past for a purpose as extreme as anything that the Giants and Stave had attempted. Covenant yearned to believe that she would succeed. And he had one tentative reason to think that she would not fail—or had not failed yet. The Arch of Time still held. One moment led to the next. Covenant inhaled and then exhaled. He heard words arranged in comprehensible sequences. Therefore Law endured. Linden had not caused a fatal rupture—or its ripples had not yet reached him.
    Perhaps that inference was an illusion. Perhaps he only experienced time chronologically because he was human, too mortal to perceive any other reality. Perhaps nothing truly existed outside the confines of his own perceptions.
    He had considered such ideas before. At one time, he had trusted himself to them. Now he discarded them with a private shrug. They changed nothing. He was responsible for the meaning of his life, as he had always been: for his loves, and for his rejections. While he remained able to think and feel, he could not set such burdens down without betraying himself.
    No doubt Linden believed something similar. How otherwise could she have hazarded a
caesure
? Without some kind of faith in the necessity of her commitments, how could she have ridden away from her son?
    No wonder Covenant loved her.
    Eventually the voices of his companions fell into silence. With the suddenness of a child, Jeremiah collapsed into slumber: an aftereffect of effort and