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

avalanche of water slammed into the pond, but she hardly saw it; hardly saw the Giants gripping each other so that they would not be swept away; hardly saw Jeremiah flail black fire in all directions, wild and useless. She had already been lifted into Furledsail’s arms. At once certain and cautious, Furledsail moved into the pond. But she did not confront its upheaval directly. Instead she angled away to the right, past the immediate thrash and spray.
    At the same instant, Hurl and Setrock dove. Hurl stretched out, long and shallow, crossing as much distance as he could. Setrock went deeper, shorter. As Furledsail sank to her waist, Hurl broke the surface beyond her.
    Above the water, the lash and rebound of waves, Furledsail tossed her burden upright to Hurl.
    Linden caught a frantic glimpse of Stave swimming. Then Hurl’s hands caught her.
    He did not hold her. Treading water, he pitched her back over his head. A blind throw—
    Blind and unerring. Deftly Wiver Setrock snagged her out of the air. In the same motion, he, too, flung her behind him.
    A heartbeat later, Linden lay in Grueburn’s clasp at the water’s edge. With wary haste, Grueburn retreated up the rocks to press her back against the wall among the other Giants. Her grin as she regarded Linden was feral with glee.
    Linden’s mind had gone blank. She stared up at Grueburn as if she did not recognize the Swordmain.
    But somewhere deep inside her, a voice was crowing.
    You did it. You
did
it.
    Did you call me your
daughter
? she shouted at Lord Foul. Watch and learn, you smug bastard!
    She could cheer and threaten because the Despiser was not her greatest fear. He was Covenant’s problem. She had chosen a different path to the World’s End.
    Wild magic was a necessary step.

7.
    At Last

    Tumults crashed inward. They threatened to fill the cave, drown the entire company. The Feroce vanished in roaring waves. The air that came with the flood stank of minerals and trapped hate. It surpassed Jeremiah; surpassed the Staff of Law.
    But the constrained volume of the river was less than it had been scant days ago, much less; and the cave’s outlet swallowed the immediate brunt of the inrush. On either side, waves slammed like heavy seas against the walls, fell back onto each other. The pond became a boiling cauldron, a contained squall. Surges tore at the Giants’ ankles, knees, thighs. Fluid blows hammered Stave and Branl. Yet moment by moment the flail and rebound of the waters ran down the mountain’s throat.
    Gradually the flood seemed to find its balance. Its force receded as the cleft drained. Turmoil slapped at the walls and the company, but did not claim them. Smaller waves sank to the level of knees and then ankles. Soon the water only splashed the feet of the Giants. Its thunderous howl faded.
    At the same time, the air tumbling from the opened crevice lost some of its virulence. It had been blocked for ages or eons, and its contagions had congealed until they were thick as mire. But now it ran out like the river; and as it emptied the cleft, it drew air from some cleaner source. Gasping, Linden tasted hints of something that resembled life. When Jeremiah regained his grip on Earthpower, the whole company began to breathe more easily.
    His efforts confirmed that he was unharmed.
    But the Feroce were indeed gone. If they had survived the torrents, they had allowed themselves to be swept away: back to the cavern and the black lake, to the Defiles Course and the Sarangrave. Linden wanted to think that they were still alive. They had done what they could. Perhaps their High God would forgive their doubts.
    A shout from the Ironhand announced that the gap into the crevice had become passable. Branl carried the
krill
closer to light the way as the Anchormaster and half a dozen of his crew dropped down into the water’s former channel, then began scrambling upward. The river frothed against their legs, but they labored higher until they were out of sight.
    Through the raw clamor of the current, Covenant told Branl to go ahead. With Coldspray’s assent, the Humbled took Loric’s dagger into the crevice. For a moment, the gem left slashes of argent on the pond’s turmoil. Then the Ironhand followed, bearing Covenant with her, and her size blocked most of the light. The remaining streaks and gleams made the cave and its water look ghostly, transient, as if the whole place were dissolving; losing its place in the reality of time.
    Halewhole