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

High God was not done with the Pure One.
    Covenant was reluctant to face them. He did not want to recall Horrim Carabal’s peril, or to think about what the Humbled had sacrificed. But time was precious—and the Feroce had blessed him with hurtloam. They had promised to speak to Linden for him. They had earned his attention.
    Sighing at the ache of memories as cruel as Joan’s suffering, Covenant pushed himself to stand.
    Around him, murk veiled every feature of the landscape, turned hills and grass and marsh and sky to an indeterminate, irredeemable smudge. Only the wavering fires of the Feroce contradicted the universal twilight; and they cast too little illumination.
    Awkwardly, as if he had forgotten how to walk, he went to join Branl.
    Like him, the Master still wore a second skin of mud. A trivial concern: it would flake away as it dried; and in the meantime, it provided a measure of protection against the increasing coolness of the air. But under the mud, Branl’s tunic hung in tatters, eaten by the Flat’s corrosive waters. Indeed, Covenant’s own clothes were badly damaged. His jeans looked like they had been mauled, and his T-shirt was little more than scraps. Yet that, too, was trivial. Ruined attire suited the Unbeliever and his guardian.
    Looking more closely, Covenant was relieved to find that Branl also had been healed. In more ways than one—A portion of the distress clenched and hidden behind his
Haruchai
stoicism had been eased. He looked like a man who had finally come to terms with an amputation, or with some other old wound.
    Resting his halfhand on the Master’s shoulder, Covenant said, “I’m sorry.” Perhaps he would learn how to forgive Branl if he first asked forgiveness for himself. “I can only guess what killing that Raver cost you. But I regret it. I wish I hadn’t needed you to save me.”
    Again.
    Branl’s gaze did not waver. “You sought to spare us, ur-Lord,” he replied as though every human tone had been hammered out of his voice. “That you have ever done, though you have long known that no
Haruchai
wishes to be spared. To be denied the outcome of our deeds implies a judgment of unworth. Yet you are the ur-Lord, the Unbeliever. As we are known to you, so you are known to us. By long travail, we have learned that your choices are indeed a judgment of unworth. But it is yourself that you judge, yourself and no other. Therefore we found no insult in your wish to confront
turiya
Herem alone.”
    Involuntarily Covenant winced. The Humbled certainly knew him too well. But he did not like to think of his personal strictures in such terms.
    Sighing again, he changed the subject. “Do you still have the
krill
?”
    Branl nodded. From the remains of his tunic, he drew out a bundle of broad leaves. “Do you require its light, ur-Lord? I have covered it to appease the timidity of these Feroce.” After a moment, he added, “They crave speech with you yet again. For that reason, they have awaited your return from slumber.”
    Covenant dropped his hand. “Never mind. They’re already scared enough. They’ve waited this long for me. I can wait a little longer to see where I’m going.”
    He had decisions to make, but he was not ready for them. He wanted Linden’s forgiveness more than Branl’s—or his own.
    Standing at his companion’s side as if he and the Humbled carried the same stigma, he addressed the Feroce.
    “So far, you’ve honored your part of our agreement.” That the lurker wanted something else from him made him brusque. “I expect your High God to keep doing that. We’ve done more than I promised. You should do the same.”
    The Feroce flinched. Their flames guttered and spat. “You are the Pure One,” they answered, quavering, “though you deny yourself. So it was at the time of the
jheherrin
. So it remains.
    “You have exceeded the terms. This our High God acknowledges. The alliance is sealed.”
    Covenant nodded; but he did not relax. “And my message? Did you deliver it?”
    “We are the Feroce,” the creatures replied. Their single voice sounded like mire forced to assume the shapes of language. “We serve our High God in every pond and stream and quag of his glory. Your words have been conveyed. Their import we have striven to convey also.”
    Covenant bowed his head in relief. Linden would understand. He had to believe that she would understand. And she would know what to do.
Something unexpected
. Something that he could not