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

than Desecration. Letting the pain
go on
was worse. It had to be healed. If it could not be healed, it had to be extirpated. And if it could not be healed or cut out, it had to be ended in some other way.
    That “some other way” was her real conundrum. And her greatest fear was that she did not have it in her to resolve the contradiction.
    She knew how Kevin Landwaster must have felt.
    For a time, Frostheart Grueburn and Stave answered her with silence. What could they have said? She was who she was. Her fears were her own. But then Stave said like a man who had never known a moment’s doubt, “It is written in water, Linden. Deeds are not stones. Fears are not. And even stone may fail. No outcome is certain.”
    Before Linden could think of a response, Grueburn began to chuckle. “Well said, Stave Rockbrother. As ever, Linden Giantfriend misesteems herself. She has restored joy to my ears, though she does not hear it.”
    Then she added, “Accept my thanks, Linden Giantfriend. You have comforted me. I regret only that you are not likewise comforted.”
    At once, the woman turned away. Perhaps she sensed that Linden wanted to be alone; that Linden needed time to accept what she had heard and said. Still chuckling, Grueburn went to rejoin her comrades. But Stave remained.
    He said nothing further. For that, Linden was grateful. His presence was enough to remind her that she was not alone. No other answer would suffice unless she found it for herself.

    ime brought her no clarity; but after a while, she felt steady enough to return to the company. While the stars were dying, they had called to her nerves like keening; like bright supplications. But now they were not vanishing from the heavens. Perhaps as a result, they looked less forlorn to her. They seemed to gaze down almost hopefully, as if they had found something to believe in.
    Sighing, Linden rested a hand on Stave’s shoulder to thank him. Then she began to make her way back to her companions.
    Before she reached them, Covenant came to meet her, still dripping from his immersion. His face was full of shadows because the light of the
krill
had shifted: Branl had taken the dagger to a nearby hillcrest upstream. Spectral as the elucidation of dreams, argent shone on Covenant’s silver hair but left his features in darkness.
    At once, the Swordmainnir withdrew. Some splashed into the water to bathe. Others moved away as if they were making room for Linden and her husband.
    While she wondered what she could say to him, he took her in his arms. Holding her close, he murmured, “I’m sorry, Linden.” His voice was little more than a husky rasp. “I feel like I’ve hurt you, but I’m not sure how.
    “I expected you to argue.”
    She let him hug her for a moment. Then she returned his clasp. “I’ve been arguing with myself.”
    He stepped back enough to look into her eyes. “What about?”
    She tried to meet his scrutiny, but her gaze slid away as if she were ashamed. “I understand what you want to do,” she told him with a rasp of her own. “I don’t have any better ideas. But you didn’t explain what you want from me.”
    Or from Jeremiah.
    Covenant’s manner said, I don’t want anything from you. I just want you. I just need you. But aloud he admitted, “I know. I couldn’t. I can’t. It’s all so
vague
.” He rapped his forehead with his knuckles. “I’m clear about what I have to do. What I have to try to do. But everything else is just impressions, instincts. It’s not an accident that you and Jeremiah are here. It’s not an accident that we’re here together. Hell,” he snorted, “I wouldn’t be here at all without you. But I have no idea what it means.”
    He hesitated for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders, shook Linden gently. “The only thing I’m sure of is that
this
—the three of us together, with friends to help us—is not what Lord Foul wants. We’ve already done things he couldn’t have foreseen. Now I think we
are
something he can’t foresee.”
    He almost eased her. She believed in him: now she could almost believe him. But she was still afraid—and she had not told him what she feared. She had not named it to herself.
    “That’s not enough,” she said awkwardly.
    I’m not enough.
    His voice hardened. “Then I’ll say something else.” It set like cooling iron. “If none of this works out—if everything goes to hell no matter what we do—if the worst turns out to be worse than we can