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

imagine.
    But the Feroce were still speaking. “If we have failed,” they said, “or if we are not heeded, our High God commands contrition. Our lives are forfeit. Should you wish to slay us, still the alliance is sealed. It will not be unsealed.”
    Then the creatures stood and waited as if they were resisting an impulse to cower.
    Their unrelenting fears troubled Covenant. “Well, gosh,” he drawled to disguise his dismay. “That’s magnanimous of him. Is everybody in this bloody mess trying to make amends for sins they haven’t committed?”
    The fires of the Feroce quailed. Their large eyes reflected emerald alarm. They had tried to help him remember
forbidding
—they had given him hurtloam—and still they expected to be punished.
    Swearing to himself, Covenant tried to soften the edges of his voice. “You did what you could. If we exceeded the terms, so did you. What happens next isn’t your fault.”
    He meant, You don’t need to be afraid of me.
    “So what does your High God want now?” he continued. “He’s already sacrificed enough of you for my sake. I don’t want more. What does
he
want?”
    “He is our High God,” the descendants of the soft ones replied. “His greatness commands us. We do not refuse. We—”
    Abruptly they flinched like children at the first touch of a flail. Facing each other, they crowded closer together. Their flames seemed to gibber.
    From their circle of fire and fear, their voice arose like muffled wailing. “Our High God commands. The alliance is sealed. It will not be unsealed. But he asks—”
    For a moment, they appeared to lose control of themselves. Their green faded to flickers in their palms. Their voice became a thin cry like an echo of their earlier shrieking. Their bodies jerked as if they were appalled by what they had to say.
    But then they mastered themselves—or they were mastered. Their fires sprang back to life. The flames strained upward, striving toward the heavens. Garish emerald glared like malevolence on their weak features. Their wailing became words.
    “Our High God craves a boon.”
    Covenant stared at their chagrin. He required a moment to grasp that the Feroce were distressed by the notion that their High God had needs which could not be met by commands or alliances or raw power; that the lurker’s tremendous size and strength could be reduced to pleading. In effect, Horrim Carabal had confessed an inadequacy that struck at the roots of their devotion.
    Shaken on their behalf, Covenant said, “You don’t need to be afraid. There’s no harm in asking. I’m not offended. Just say it. What does your High God want me to do?”
    He could not tell whether the Feroce understood him. They did not unclench their circle, or lower their fires, or cease their wounded cries. After a moment, however, their wailing became speech again.
    “You are the Pure One. The Pure One redeems. Now havoc comes, a great and terrible hunger. It draws near. It is death. Utter death. Our High God cannot stand against it. He does not know what he must do. Will you heed him? Will you answer?
    “Our High God must not perish!”
    Ah. Covenant nodded again. The lurker wanted to survive, and it did not know how.
    But he was loath to suggest a course of action. “That depends,” he said carefully. He could not guess what the implications might be. “I don’t know exactly what you’re asking. First tell me this. The havoc is coming. That’s a fact. But
where
? Where is it coming?”
    Would it head straight toward
Melenkurion
Skyweir? Was it ready to end the world? Or did it want more food? More
Elohim
? Or something else—?
    The possibility that the Worm was hungry for
something else
made Covenant’s stomach twist.
    “You are the Pure One,” the Feroce replied in consternation. “Do you not know that the havoc nears the heart of our High God’s realm, the deepest waters? How is it that you do not know?”
    The deepest waters? Covenant frowned. That must mean Lifeswallower, the Great Swamp: the delta of the Defiles Course. He groaned at the idea. The ground on which he stood seemed to cant as if realities were shifting. Hellfire! The Worm was approaching Lifeswallower.
    But it could have no interest in the lurker’s demesne. It would find no sustenance in that polluted swampland. And certainly the Worm had no appetite for a monster like Horrim Carabal, a living corruption of Earthpower. Which meant—
    Covenant dragged his hands through his hair,