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

If doubt infects, so does courage.”
    Linden held her breath. If the Feroce turned back now—
    For a long moment, they were silent. They did not move. Their large eyes remained fixed on Covenant. Nevertheless they conveyed the impression that they were conferring with each other.
    Covenant faced them steadily, waiting.
    Finally they sighed like slumping mud. “We are the Feroce. We are ignorant of courage. We obey because we must.”
    They did not urge haste again. Instead they drifted away from Covenant, gathered in the center of the pool. There they faced each other, holding out their fires like questions for which they had no answers.
    “Thomas?” Linden asked.
    He frowned at her, or at his own thoughts. “I know. Not exactly reassuring.” Then he grimaced. “So what else is new?
    “We should go,” he told Rime Coldspray. “We’re running out of time.”
    Yet doubt infects.
    It was contagious.
    Nodding, the Ironhand addressed Bluff Stoutgirth. “Anchormaster?”
    “Aye.” Stoutgirth grinned. To his crew, he said as if he were jesting, “Come, sluggards. Have done with feasting and sloth. While we dally, the world’s doom grows fretful. Soon it may set its sails and depart unopposed.”
    His crew responded with snorts or groans, or with ripostes; yet they immediately began packing away their provisions. Soon they were ready.
    Linden hesitated, unsure of her son. But Jeremiah asked for the Staff without prompting. “I feel better now,” he assured her. “I want to practice.” He faced her squarely, held her gaze. “But maybe you shouldn’t help me anymore. You make it too easy. I don’t have to push myself when you’re doing half the work.”
    She winced. He was right, of course. He had to make himself stronger; had to earn his inheritance. But she already knew that she was going to abandon him again. She was even going to abandon Covenant. And when she did, she would leave without any hope that she might ever return.
    Her hands shook as she passed the Staff to her son. Unclosing her fingers required an act of will.
    His attention shifted at once to the wood; but she continued to gaze at him, clinging. Carefully she said, “I’m proud of you. Do you know that?”
    “Sure, Mom.” His tone made it clear that he was not listening.
    The theurgy which he summoned from his hands and his violated heart was as black as anything that she had ever done.

    ed by the Feroce, the company struggled upward. Emerald oozed like infection down the river. The light of the
krill
seemed to lurch from place to place as it struck irregular facets of stone. The channel felt interminable. Its twists and bends through Mount Thunder’s gutrock blocked Linden’s view ahead. She could not guess how far the company would have to climb.
    Fortunately Jeremiah’s use of Earthpower and Law was improving. The Giants were able to breathe more easily. And the hints of She Who Must Not Be Named which Linden had felt earlier were lessened by midnight fire in the confines of the flume.
    Blustergale continued to support Scatterwit. A few of her comrades took turns holding the rope tied around her. Like them, she labored ahead, striving toward an untenable future.
    So suddenly that Linden only had time to flinch and grip, Grueburn slipped: she started to plunge. But Stave stopped her by anchoring her foot. She caught herself on her hands, regained her balance. Muttering rueful apologies, she bore Linden onward.
    Other Giants slipped as well. As their weariness grew, they lost their footing more often. Most of them recovered quickly, or were secured by their comrades. But one of the sailors fell hard enough to take Keenreef with him. Threshing their arms, they were swept downward. However, Wiver Setrock dropped to his knees below their rush, spread his arms, snagged his comrades before they collided with Grueburn and Kindwind. With another sailor and Onyx Stonemage at his back, Setrock helped the Giants find their feet.
    Anxiety and jests echoed down the chute. Coldspray and Stoutgirth shouted unnecessary warnings. Jeremiah looked around wildly for a moment: the only sign that he had noticed what was happening. Then he returned his attention to the Staff.
    Darkness. Green glaring dully. Flashes of argent. Loud water acrid with minerals and pollution. Treacherous rocks and mosses. More darkness. Covenant clung like a penitent to Coldspray’s back. Jeremiah half knelt behind Kindwind, gripping the Staff across her cataphract.