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

onto a boulder. Cirrus Kindwind put Jeremiah down beside Linden, stood straighter to ease the tension in her back. As Coldspray settled Covenant nearby, the Anchormaster arranged Stonemage, Bluntfist, and his crew, some standing to their chests in the pool, others leaning on boulders or propped against the walls. Then he asked for food and clean water.
    Sailors unpacked chunks of cured beef and mutton, rinds of cheese, bread with the texture of hardpan, dried fruits, waterskins. As they did so, Linden accepted the Staff of Law from Jeremiah and assumed the whole task of purifying the air so that he could rest and eat. He had not questioned her assistance earlier: he was not loath to trust her now. Apparently he was learning to believe that she would not recant her gift.
    While she had the opportunity, she extended other forms of refreshment to the Giants; eased the trembling of Covenant’s muscles; nourished Jeremiah’s strength. As if to himself, the boy murmured, “That’s a neat trick. I want to learn it.” But he did not reach for the Staff. Images of the Worm seemed to glide like ravens across the depths of his gaze.
    Some of the waterskins held diluted
diamondraught
. When Linden had swallowed enough to wash the taste of pollution out of her mouth and throat, she joined the Giants eating.
    She had not heard Hurl’s voice for a while. Surely he was able to stay above the lake? But if the Anchormaster felt any anxiety on Hurl’s behalf, he concealed it with jests.
    “Thomas?” Linden asked. “What do you think? How high can that monster lift so much water?”
    He opened his mouth to answer; closed it again. After a moment, he said, “By damn.” Surprise and relief. With the index finger of his halfhand, he pointed down the chute.
    In the distance below the pool, unsteady emerald reflected wetly on the walls.
    The fires of the Feroce were still some distance away, but they were coming closer. And before long, Linden made out Hurl’s bulk looming behind them. In the green glow, he looked somehow ghoulish, like an avatar of the Illearth Stone. His grin resembled the grimace of a fiend. Nevertheless he was unharmed.
    The condition of the Feroce was more difficult to gauge. Linden had never been able to sense the nature of their magicks. From her perspective, they seemed smaller, weaker, as if they had been reduced by their immersion in the lake. And when they finally waded into the pool, she saw that they had indeed shrunk. Although they floated effortlessly with their arms and flames above water, they appeared to have drawn into themselves as if their encounter with their High God’s god had shamed them.
    “They rose with the lake,” Hurl proclaimed in a tone of wonder. “I had surrendered all hope of them. Yet when the lake began to hint that it might recede, the Feroce emerged.”
    The creatures faced Covenant; but now they did not flinch or cower. Nor did they ask his pardon for their absence. “We are merely the Feroce,” they stated. “We serve our High God. We do not question our worship. Commanded, we obey.” The strangeness of their shared voice seemed to accentuate the corruption of the atmosphere, the taint of the river, the slick sheen of the walls.
    “But we have beheld our High God’s god. He is lessened. Perhaps he is lessened.” They regarded only Covenant. Even their flames appeared to focus on him. “Perhaps the Pure One is also lessened.” Their emerald shone in his eyes. It gleamed like spray on his scarred forehead. “You must hasten again. We do not question. Commanded, we obey. Yet doubt infects. It spreads. An end draws near. We fear it. It gladdens us.
    “You must hasten.”
    “Or what?” Covenant asked carefully.
    The Feroce were no longer afraid—or their fear had become a different form of apprehension. “We are naught,” they answered. “Worship is all things. Or it also is naught.”
    “Mom?” Jeremiah breathed. “What’s going on?”
    Linden touched his shoulder to quiet him. She tightened her grip on the Staff.
    “Then forget your High God,” Covenant said almost calmly; almost mildly. “Forget our alliance. Forget that Clyme died for it, and the Worm is going to destroy every god you can imagine.” He did not raise his voice, but his tone became thicker, harder. “Remember that the
jheherrin
saved the Pure One. They were weaker than you are, and maybe more scared, but they helped him anyway. Then he set them free.
    “Try remembering
that
.