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

because the young stallion had jostled him. Ever since he had regained his feet after his encounter with Lord Foul, the boy had wobbled as if some of his sinews had been cut. His eyes, always changeable, had acquired a nauseated hue. If they reflected his mind, his thoughts were a spew of vomit.
    Covenant also reeled. As Mishio Massima lurched to a halt, he pitched from the saddle. But that was an effect of vertigo. Every exertion of wild magic seemed to cast him into a whirlwind.
    On more level ground at the foot of the slope, the company gathered among a few patches of scrub oak clinging to the thin soil between stubborn tufts of grass and weeds. A more gentle hillside lay ahead; yet no one proposed to hurry onward. Covenant had already returned the
krill
to Branl. Now he folded cross-legged to the dirt, holding his head like a man trying to remember who he was. As before, the Swordmainnir labored for air as if they had been carrying monoliths on their backs.
    Almost at once, heavy raindrops struck Linden’s face. Spatters hit randomly around the area, raising small bursts of dust where they found dirt. Soon there would be more. Torrents were coming, a monsoon downpour entirely out of place in this season of the Lower Land.
    Wincing in anticipation, she nudged Hyn closer to Khelen.
    At the same time, Covenant heaved himself upright. Unsteady on his numb feet, he made his way among the Giants toward Linden and Jeremiah. Droplets ran down his cheeks like sweat.
    Carefully he asked, “How are you doing, Jeremiah?”
    The boy glared past Covenant. He avoided Linden’s concern. “Stop worrying about me,” he muttered. “I’m fine. You can’t do anything about it.”
    His hands still trembled as if he were feverish.
    Covenant looked questions at Linden.
    She studied her son. Superficially he was undamaged: that was plain. The distress that appeared to disarticulate him was emotional, not physical. Only his spirit had been harmed.
    He had spent too much of his life hidden: a powerful defense which had both shielded and hampered him. Crouching in his graves had preserved him in some ways, but had not taught him how to weather the Despiser’s virulence. Possession and vicious scorn had withered his attempt at defiance.
    From Hyn’s back, Linden reached out to touch Jeremiah’s arm, get his attention. “Is it that bad, honey? Can you talk about it?”
    She wanted to ask what had impelled him to risk exposing himself to the Despiser, but she suspected that she already knew the answer. He felt useless: he needed to do something that would help him believe in himself again. And Covenant had given him an oblique form of permission or encouragement.
    Eventually we all have to face the things that scare us most.
    Jeremiah glared at her for a moment, then turned his head away. To the coming storm, he muttered, “You don’t understand. You don’t see it. I can’t stop. All that power—It isn’t just terrible. It’s more
real
than we are. We’re all going to die, and I get to watch.”
    Scattered raindrops struck at Linden like pebbles. Fiercely she wiped her face.
    “You’re right, Jeremiah. I
don’t
understand. But I still know how it feels. I’m not any braver than you are, or stronger, or better. My
God
, Jeremiah. I let a crazy man stick a knife in Thomas because I couldn’t make myself try to stop him.
Turiya
Raver touched me, just
touched
me, and I got so scared that I was gone for days. And
moksha
actually possessed me. I know what that
feels
like.”
    How much of her life had she spent ashamed? Despising herself?
    “But I’m still here for the same reason you are. We aren’t alone. We are not alone.”
    “Indeed,” Cirrus Kindwind confirmed softly. “We have spoken of this, Chosen-son. Giants affirm that joy is in the ears that hear because the telling of our tales binds us one to another. Speaking and hearing, we share our efforts to give our lives meaning.”
    The rain was falling harder. Soon it would be falling too hard to hear anything; say anything.
    Through a slash of water, Jeremiah whispered, “But you don’t
see
it. I don’t mean anything.”
    His misery closed Linden’s throat. She had no answer for him. She believed in Covenant, but she was afraid to believe in herself. Her greatest fear—
    While she stumbled inwardly, Covenant put his hand on her thigh. “We should get out of here.” Slapping raindrops obscured the severity of his mien, the lines of his willing compassion.