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

walls; multiplied upward until they filled the crevice.
    The air would continue to deteriorate as the company climbed. Leagues of unknown passages, dangerous footing, and pollution lay between the company and the more tolerable atmosphere of the Wightwarrens. And Jeremiah was already faltering.
    He was not ready for this; not ready at all to have twenty-one lives depending on him for every breath.
    Instinctively she yearned to reach out for the Staff’s resources; to wield them herself. Jeremiah was not far behind her: only Stave followed Frostheart Grueburn ahead of Cirrus Kindwind. Linden could siphon Earthpower and Law from the wood while he held it. Her chest
hurt
. She wanted good air.
    Resisting her impulse to assume the work that she had given to her son was as painful as breathing.
    But she had surrendered the Staff because Jeremiah needed it more than she did. Eventually he might need it absolutely. He had to become stronger. If she took back her trust prematurely—if she made his challenge easier from the start—she would undermine his efforts to believe in himself.
    Yet the company was struggling. Sweat ran from Grueburn’s face, although the stone and the water were cold as a crypt. Her distress ached through her lore-hardened armor. By degrees, frantic coughing spread among the Giants. In front of Grueburn, Baf Scatterwit was taken by a spasm so fierce that she slipped. She caught herself with both hands, avoided a plunge into the river, but not before her kneecap struck rock with an audible crack. Choking on Giantish obscenities, she hauled herself upright. Then, however, she was forced to halt, hunching over to massage her knee.
    From Coldspray or Covenant, ragged murmurs passed Linden’s name back to her; but she did not need to hear it. She understood. Jeremiah had to do better.
    “Jeremiah, honey.” She was panting herself. “You’re trying too hard.” He did not know himself well enough yet. “It’s easier than you think. It’s the Staff of
Law
. It was made for this. You don’t have to force it. You just have to encourage it. Guide it. Let it express how you feel.”
    “I can’t.” Jeremiah’s protest was thick with dread. “That doesn’t make sense.”
    Linden fought for patience. “Try it this way. Close your eyes. Forget where you are. Forget what’s happening. Forget the Staff, if you can. Concentrate on Earthpower and air, clean air, air that keeps you alive. It’s like building one of your castles. You think about what you’re making. You don’t think about how you make it. The Staff is just a means.
    “You can do this if you trust yourself.”
    She could almost hear his resolve breaking. “That doesn’t—” he began to insist. But then he stopped. “All right,” he said like a groan. “I’ll try building. That worked before. Just don’t blame me if—”
    He fell silent.
    For a moment, the effects of his theurgy disappeared entirely. Linden drew air like shards of glass into her lungs. All of her muscles seemed to seize at once. Grueburn’s gasps sounded like tearing flesh. Along the line, Giants stumbled to a halt, sank to their hands and knees. The
krill
lit them like spectres, as if they had crossed over into the realm of the Dead.
    The Feroce had caused some of Sarangrave Flat’s mud to remember that it was once hurtloam. Covenant had said so. Surely they could do something similar to the air? If he asked them?
    Then Linden felt a stronger current of Earthpower emanate from Jeremiah and the Staff. It was tentative at first. It surged and receded. She found one healing breath, lost it again. Nevertheless her heart lifted. His access to the Staff’s potential resembled the chamber hidden in her own mind, the room which could open on wild magic. Learning that the chamber existed had enabled her to locate it again. And each time, the search was more familiar. The door opened more easily. The same could be true for Jeremiah, if he refused to panic.
    He was young and gifted. In some respects, his sense of himself was more flexible than hers, less conflicted by an awareness of his limitations. For a heartbeat or two, his power shrank; but it also became steadier. Then better air began to gust outward. Some of it escaped into the empty heights of the fissure. Most of it swept over the company.
    Linden snatched freshness into her lungs, fought for it. It was still tainted, but it became cleaner with every breath. Groans of relief spread among the Giants as