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

will grant. Behold!
    Moksha
Jehannum gestured in Jeremiah’s mind, and the Staff of Law appeared there as though it had been translated out of his clasp. His hands still held it: his fingers curled like claws on the black wood; like an atavistic denial. Nonetheless he saw its image, precise and tangible, with the vision of thought.
    This instrument, said
moksha
, I will not touch. It is loathly and vile, fashioned to thwart me. In your grasp, however, it is mighty, capable of wonders. When it is made to serve your gifts—and when those gifts in turn serve the Despiser—it is potent to affect eternity, shaping order out of shapelessness.
    I will guide you to the lore of its proper wielding.
    Oh, Jeremiah breathed. Order out of shapelessness. The idea pleased him. Constructs. Building. His one joy. To his granted peace was added an unforeseen happiness, a sense of possibilities.
    We do what we must so that we may find worth in ourselves.
    He was beginning to understand that there was more than one path to godhood.
    Beyond the Staff in his mind, the Staff in his hands, the Giants and Canrik still struggled. Though their strength was waning—though every step and effort drained the life from their muscles—they circled and evaded, apparently trying to maneuver the monsters away from Jeremiah. But the stone-things were no threat to him. They protected him. They had been sent to keep his companions away from the Staff of Law.
    Yes, Jeremiah said. Yes.
    Moksha
’s approval seemed to make reality bend and ripple. His voice seemed to be the Worm’s.
    Then observe closely. That noisome wight, the hated Forestal of abhorred Garroting Deep, has written his will and power upon your instrument. He is among the most despised of our foes, yet even he must serve our lord and master. Such is the Despiser’s majesty and cunning. Harken well while I read the runes.
    Their import will distress you. This saddens me. The Raver did not sound saddened. I desire only your exaltation. Alas, all knowledge is hurtful. Yet it is also needful. And your discomfort will be brief. You will swiftly return to joy.
    Jeremiah nodded his consent. Masked within himself, within the private quietude of graves, he began to ask questions which the Raver did not hear. His time as the
croyel
’s host and victim had taught him that possession was torture. He had only been able to endure it because he had no choice. Why, then, had
moksha
entered him bearing only relief and ease? Why did the Raver trouble to lull him with peace or pleasure?
    He suspected that he knew the answer. He had heard too many people talk about
the necessity of freedom
.
    And Kastenessen had broken him; but that violation had not destroyed him. Now he realized that the experience had taught him something useful. He knew how to be more than one Jeremiah at a time, each distinct from the others. He could think his own thoughts as well as the Raver’s.
    What Lord Foul wanted from him, he told himself secretly, was not something that could be compelled. Like wild magic, his talent could not be coerced beyond the small uses which the
croyel
had made of it. No matter how much he was whetted, he would not be able to exceed anything unless he agreed to it. At some point, the Despiser would need Jeremiah to serve him by choice. To submit. The tranquility which
moksha
gave or imposed was a lure.
    The idea did not disturb Jeremiah. The Raver’s mastery did not allow resistance, or the emotions of resistance. It banished distress. Nevertheless there was more than one Jeremiah—and some of them could be concealed or dissociated in ways which did not attract
moksha
Jehannum’s attention.
    Bubbling with glee,
moksha
read the Staff. His magicks lit the abstruse symbols, not with fire or shining, but with a deeper black that scorned human notions of darkness. His disembodied finger traced the script as he interpreted it. Yet he did not explain it in words. Instead he gave Jeremiah images.
    While the runes came to life, Jeremiah found himself standing on the ruined dirt of Gallows Howe surrounded by the ire of trees.
    His presence there was only a vision. He had not passed through time to an age when Caerroil Wildwood’s outrage ruled Garroting Deep. His body still sat on the floor of a cave in Mount Thunder, holding the Staff of Law across his thighs, feeling tremors rise through the gutrock; apparently watching his companions fight with their last strength. But his mind—
    His mind had