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

If they grasped that import of his affirmation, they gave no sign.
    Nevertheless Covenant went on as if he had won their consent to continue. “But that cost—It may not be what you think. Which is my fault,” he added quickly, “not yours.
    “I don’t say much about myself. I probably haven’t told you or anybody that my disease—that leprosy—isn’t fatal. Lepers can get worse for a long time without dying. Usually it’s the things that happen to them
because
they’re lepers that kill them.
    “Kastenessen can make me a whole lot sicker without stopping me. Kevin’s Dirt is nasty stuff, but it won’t save him. He only imagines it will because he’s crazy and desperate.
    “Meanwhile leprosy is like most of the things we struggle with. It’s a curse, but sometimes it can also be a blessing.”
    Cast back by the
krill
’s brilliance, the surrounding twilight seemed to deepen, drawing the stars ever closer to the world’s doom. At the same time, the Humbled began to look both more substantial and more mundane; less like emblems from the realm of death. Unwillingly, perhaps, but irrefusably, they were being lured out of their moral reality into Covenant’s.
    More sure of himself now, the Unbeliever said, “Look at it this way. Have you never wondered why none of the Ravers has ever tried to possess me? They’ve had me helpless often enough. So why am I still here? Sure, Foul told them not to take me. He didn’t want them to get my ring. But why did they obey?
    “Well, they’ve been his servants so long, you might think they’re incapable of independent thought. That’s one theory. But it can’t be true. If it were, they wouldn’t be much use. He would have to spend all his time telling them what to do. No, he has to be able to give them orders and then leave them alone while they figure out how to accomplish what he wants. They have to be able think for themselves.
    “And they’re by God
Ravers
. It’s their
nature
to be hungry for power and destruction.” Just like Horrim Carabal. “So why have they never, not once in all these millennia, ever tried to possess me? Why haven’t they tried to take my ring?”
    Covenant spread his hands, his foreshortened fingers, showing the Humbled that they were empty—and that such appearances were as deceptive as the stoicism of the
Haruchai
.
    “I think I know why. It’s the same reason we can trust the lurker. And the same reason I have to do what I can to save him. Because they’re afraid. They’re all afraid. Horrim Carabal is afraid of the Worm. And the Ravers—Well, of course they’re afraid of Lord Foul. But I’m guessing they’re also afraid of leprosy. They’re afraid of what it might be like to possess a body and a mind as sick as mine. They’re afraid of all this numbness, and going blind, and feeling crippled not to mention impotent even when they have wild magic to play with.”
    He shrugged as if he were susceptible to contradiction; yet with every word he felt stronger. “Maybe being me would be too much like being the Despiser, trapped and helpless and full of despair even though he’s too powerful and too damn eternal to be killed. Possessing other people, or other monsters, they can at least feel and hate and destroy. With me, they might not be able to do any of those things.”
    He was vaguely surprised to see Clyme and Branl blink in unison as if they were closing the shutters of their minds against illumination. But the moment was brief; no more than a flicker.
    As if he were confessing an article of faith, Covenant concluded, “That’s why I might be able to save the lurker. It’s why I have to be a leper.
Turiya
won’t even consider possessing me. Leprosy is my best defense. Even Lord Foul can’t stop me if I’m numb enough.”
    Then he held his breath. He could not read his companions: he saw only anger and blankness and inflexibility. Argent lit them against the backdrop of the sunless day, but did not reveal their hearts.
    They were slow to respond. They may have been sifting through their imponderable storehouse of memories, testing Covenant’s asseveration against their entire history with him.
    When Clyme finally answered, Covenant was not prepared for his response. Nothing in his manner, or in Branl’s, hinted that the Humbled were capable of any reply except denial.
    “How then,” Clyme asked with the finality of a knell, “shall we pursue the Raver? He is no longer hampered by the limitations