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

be distinguished. Then weariness and strain became her only measure for the meaning of her steps.
    At intervals, Jeremiah extended tentative flicks of theurgy from the Staff, but their purpose eluded Linden.
    In the distance ahead, the crevice bent sharply to the left. Beyond a blind corner, another high step or shelf interrupted the ledge. This one reached the chests of the Giants. Some of the sailors were able to gain the next level unassisted; but the Swordmainnir were more heavily burdened, and their weariness was more profound: like their smaller companions, they needed help.
    When Grueburn had lifted her past the shelf, Linden paused to scan her surroundings.
    Within the ambit of the
krill
’s illumination, the ledge looked wide as a road, comparatively level. But the crevice was narrowing. After its sweep to the left, it curved gradually back to the right; and as it did so, the opposite side restricted her view ahead. Overhead the walls leaned together: she supposed that they met somewhere in the darkness, closing the fissure. Above her at the farthest extent of the light, a line across the near wall suggested the possibility of another ledge.
    The far wall was pocked with holes like the mouths of tunnels, open maws where the gem’s radiance did not penetrate. They looked big enough for Giants. A few were level with the company’s path, but most were scattered higher around the curve.
    Linden peered at those holes, frowning, until she felt Covenant’s tension. It poured from him like the heat of a fever. He was glaring along the ledge ahead with his fists clenched and his shoulders tight, as if he were expecting a blow.
    When she followed his gaze, she saw bones.
    They littered the ledge as far as she could see: thighs and ribs, arms, hands and feet, skulls. Small heaps like crushed children. Whole skeletons piled atop each other. Femurs and ulnas randomly discarded. Smashed skulls grinning at their own ruin. Hundreds, no, thousands of them. Most of them suggested Cavewights, but some made Linden think of ur-viles—or stranger monsters.
    “I don’t like this,” Covenant muttered. “It’s probably good news. Somebody tossed them here. We must be getting close to the Wightwarrens. But hellfire! I think we’re in trouble.”
    In the
krill
’s silver, the bones looked desiccated, bleached: they seemed to ache with age. But when Linden studied them more closely, she saw that only some of them were old. Others still wore gobbets of flesh, shrouds of blood. The breeze drifting past her held a tang of new rot—
    —and another odor, one which she did not want to recognize. She remembered it too well.
    The fresher piles seethed with rats. They cleaned the bones fearlessly, creatures that had never been threatened. Occasionally a dark eye glittered at Linden. Whiskers twitched. Plump bodies fought for every shred of meat.
    Long ago aboard Starfare’s Gem, she had seen them swarm at Covenant, possessed by a Raver and eager for his blood.
    “Thomas,” she whispered: a dry croak.
    He reached out to her. “What is it?” When she took his hand, he gripped her hard. “Do you sense something?”
    “I can—” Linden tried to say; but her throat closed. She had to force out words. “Oh, Thomas. I can smell
moksha
.”
    The precise evil of Ravers was imprinted on her nerves. Her memories of
turiya
were bad enough. What
moksha
had done to her was worse.
    Covenant stared at her. “Damnation.” Darkness and light warred in the background of his gaze. Then he wheeled away.
    “Branl!” he barked. “Coldspray! We’re going to be attacked!”
    The Ironhand called a question; but her comrades reacted before he could answer. Bluntfist, Kindwind, and Grueburn urged Covenant, Jeremiah, and Linden farther along the ledge, closer to the wall. Between them and the plunge of the crevice, Stonemage drew her sword. Branl thrust the
krill
into Hurl’s hands, flourished Longwrath’s flamberge. He and Stave flanked Stonemage.
    Baffled, the sailors heaved Baf Scatterwit above the edge. As she scrambled away, they stretched their arms for Squallish Blustergale.
    “Are you sure?” Covenant panted to Linden.
    “Of course she’s sure.” Jeremiah made a palpable effort to sound fierce, but his voice came out in a yelp. “We always get attacked.
    “I can’t see!” He shoved at Kindwind’s back. “I can’t do anything if I can’t see.”
    Gripping her longsword, Cirrus Kindwind shifted to cover him more