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

complex consternation in her eyes: fear for her son and her friends, and more particularly for him, combined with a flagrant dread which had not yet become resolve. And something else, a kind of horror—
    Until he saw her expression, he did not realize that he was drenched in blood.
    He went to her at once. But he did not touch her; foul her. He did not dare. His hands made truncated gestures, then fell back to his sides. The
krill
in his grasp cast cavorting shadows that seemed to mock the faces around him.
    Linden’s mouth repeated his name. Thomas. And again, Thomas.
    Handir moved among the Giants toward him. “Ur-Lord,” said the Voice of the Masters, “we must not delay. Two paths to Kiril Threndor are now known.” He must have acquired them from the minds of the newcomers. “One is the more direct. It is also the more perilous. If we must, we will attempt it. We await only your word.”
    Jeremiah stamped the Staff on the stone. His voice cracked. “We don’t have time. Don’t you understand? The whole
mountain
is coming down.” He did not look up from his hands. “The Worm doesn’t even feel it.”
    Covenant groaned.
Melenkurion
Skyweir was falling like Kevin’s Watch. Hellfire—
    Linden studied her son. Her face twisted. Then an obstacle within her seemed to break; or perhaps she pushed it aside. She went to Covenant, threw her arms around his neck, pressed all of herself against his soaked T-shirt and jeans as if she ached to embrace his sins, his accused soul.
    “Thomas,” she breathed in his ear. “Oh, Thomas.”
    “Ur-Lord,” Handir repeated more loudly.
    Covenant dropped the
krill
so that he could wrap his remaining strength around his wife. What else could he do? He had no words for his distress; no language that might soothe his clawed heart. He was going to lose her. The Worm was making his choices for him.
    “Are you sure about this?” Linden asked in an aching whisper. “I mean about Kiril Threndor?” She may have meant, About everything? “Are you sure that Lord Foul is there?”
    Are you sure that you want to face him?
    “Of course he is.” Covenant clung to her acceptance. “Or he will be when I get there. Where else would he be? Sure, he wants us all dead.” All except Jeremiah. The Despiser had probably laid a
geas
on the Cavewights so that Jeremiah would be spared. “But if that doesn’t work, he wants me to find him. He wants the pleasure of finishing me.”
    So softly that Covenant barely heard her, Linden murmured, “Then help me. I can’t do this.”
    He wanted to tell her, You can. You’re the only one who can. But he did not. She had heard his professions of faith often enough.
    “Ur-Lord!” insisted Handir; but Covenant was not listening. He was already covered in blood. It was too late to count the cost. Maybe someday he would be forgiven.
    He released Linden. When she loosened her arms, he stepped away from her to confront Jeremiah. Deliberately he placed himself in front of the boy, braced his empty fists on his hips.
    “Can you hear me?” he demanded. “I need you. You have to hear me. I need your help.”
    Linden might rally if he could show her that her son was not as lost as he looked.
    Jeremiah did not glance up from the Staff. Shadows seemed to redefine his face. In a caustic tone, as if he were speaking for the
croyel
, he snarled, “Then you might as well give up. I can’t even
see
you. I can’t see anything. The Worm is under that mountain. That’s all there is.”
    Thinking, Forgive me, Covenant barked, “
Jeremiah!
Snap out of it! You think this is bad? It’s going to get worse. Have you forgotten? Foul wants to
use
you. He’s going to do you more damage than you can imagine.”
    The boy flinched as if Covenant had struck him. Darkness writhed across his visage.
    “Thomas!” Linden objected.
    Covenant ignored her.
    “Right now, he’s just softening you up. Soon he’ll get serious. He’ll try to tear you apart, turn you inside out, hurt you so much you’ll be
eager
to do what he wants. If you don’t help me, he wins.”
    Linden tried to come between Covenant and Jeremiah. Stave held her back. The spurned
Haruchai
seemed to understand—
    Jeremiah looked like he wanted to weep. In a different voice, abused and abject, he whimpered, “I can’t—”
    As if he had lost patience, Covenant retorted, “You
can
. You have that right. You were
born
with it. All you have to do is choose,”
must
or
cannot
. He pushed his