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

about,” he snarled. “You wanted to be sure I couldn’t get what I need before you said yes.”
    His transformation shocked Linden. Suffering had done this to him,
this
. But she was not prepared for it. While she reeled inwardly, she could not respond.
    Around her, the Giants recoiled, as startled as she was, and full of disapproval. But Manethrall Mahrtiir’s reaction was immediate anger. “It is
not
, boy,” he snapped. “There is no particle of her which does not desire your well-being—aye, and the continuance of the Land. You speak now with the voice of the
croyel
, and will
be silent
.”
    Surprise stopped Jeremiah. For an instant, his vehemence faltered.
    At once, Mahrtiir continued, “Behold!” With one arm, he flung a vehement gesture down the length of the watercourse.
    As if by a flourish of magic, he dispelled Jeremiah’s indignation. Instantaneously thrilled, Jeremiah wheeled to gaze where the Manethrall pointed.
    The Ranyhyn were coming, four majestic horses bright with purpose. Prancing like pride made flesh, Hynyn led Hyn, Khelen, and Narunal along the stream toward the company.
    “Their restiveness is answered,” said the Manethrall. His tone was grim, but softer and more respectful, moderated by devotion. “Their uncertainty was ours. We have now determined our need. Thus their path is made plain.
    “Mount,” he urged Linden and Stave. Jeremiah was already running toward Khelen, unable to contain his eagerness. “Ride and hasten. The Ranyhyn have announced their will. Did they not discover bone when bone was needed? They will do as much for malachite. But we must not delay, lest the last
Elohim
be consumed ere we are able to attempt their preservation.”
    “Aye,” Rime Coldspray assented. She and her comrades made a visible effort to set aside their discomfiture. “Make ready, Swordmainnir,” she instructed. “We cannot estimate the leagues which lie ahead of us, but we must traverse them swiftly.”
    “Yet again,” grumbled Frostheart Grueburn. “Must we run interminably?” Nevertheless she did not dally as she tightened her armor and checked her sword.
    “These great beasts,” the Ironhand replied sternly, “have given aid when we had no other. If they crave haste, they will learn that Giants comprehend its import.”
    Jeremiah had swarmed onto Khelen’s back. Now he waved his arms like demands at the company. Hyn approached Linden, nudged her shoulder. For a moment, however, Linden did not react. Her heart was burning down to ash in her chest, and she did not know how to move.
    She was sure now that Jeremiah’s eagerness was his way of fleeing.
    Without waiting for her consent, Stave boosted Linden astride the dappled mare. At the same time, Mahrtiir appeared to flow into his seat on Narunal. Mere heartbeats later, Stave mounted Hynyn; and the Giants announced their readiness.
    With Khelen and Jeremiah in the lead, the company crossed out of the gully toward the northeast; toward the marge-land between the Shattered Hills and Sarangrave Flat.
    Following her son, and surrounded by Giants, Linden wept again. She had been given her first glimpse of Jeremiah’s immured pain. She knew now that he needed her—and that she was going to abandon him anyway.
    That choice had been made for her. Acting on it would be worse.

3.
    Not Dead to Life and Use

    Barely able to hold himself upright, Thomas Covenant stood on the cooled flow of Hotash Slay at the headland or boundary of the promontory where Foul’s Creche had once ruled the southeast. Beyond him and against the cliffs on either side, wild seas thrashed in the aftermath of the tsunami. He heard their turmoil, a thunderous seethe and crash like the frantic labor of the ocean’s heart. But through the surly dusk of a dawnless day, he could hardly see the eruption and spray and retreat of the lashed waves. There was no sun. Distinct as murders, the stars were going out.
    This was a consequence of the Worm’s rousing, as it was of his resurrection. It heralded the world’s ruin. Now every death pierced him. Joan’s end felt like a knife in his own chest. Killing her, he had wounded himself—
    He needed Linden. He did not know how to bear what he had become without her.
    But he could not reach her. She was too far away—and he was too badly injured. A shard of stone at the edge of the Shattered Hills had restored the old gash on his forehead: an accusation confirmed during his confrontation with Joan. Blood still