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

from which the Ramen prepare
rhee
. Cooked, they will provide sustenance.”
    Linden smiled again. As warmly as she could, she thanked the former Master. Then she asked her son, “What do you think? Can you use your Earthpower for cooking?” Had he gained that much control over his inheritance? She hoped so. He needed a chance to recover his sense of competence. “I can do it, but I’m more likely to attract attention that we don’t want.”
    She did not doubt that the lurker would devour Jeremiah avidly. But she also felt sure that the monster would find her Staff better suited to its particular hunger.
    Eager to put aside his distress, Jeremiah extended his halfhand, accepted a root. “I’ll give it a try.”
    As he did so, Linden retrieved the Staff, braced herself on its possibilities. Then she turned every dimension of her remaining discernment toward Sarangrave Flat, searching for some sign of the lurker—or of the Feroce.
    After a moment, she located the Ranyhyn. They stood along the verge of a stagnant pool, cropping bitter grasses and vaguely pernicious shrubs with apparent unconcern. Clearly no hint of the lurker disturbed them. Nor did what they ate.
    The wetland beyond them looked shallow. Its waters ran in sluggish streams or sat in rancid ponds interrupted by small eyots of grass or twisted brush; by occasional trees gnarled and stunted in putrefying mud; by brief swaths of reeds that nodded back and forth like conspirators in the currents and the breeze. Everything within the range of Linden’s percipience reeked of age and decomposition and ancient malice. Darkness covered the Flat, as funereal as a grave-cloth. Nevertheless nothing suggested the presence of the lurker or its acolytes.
    At her back, she felt a short burst of fire. At once, it winked out. Jeremiah snorted in quick disgust, but his concentration did not waver.
    A moment later, she sensed heat. It flickered, shrank, threatened to die out, then swelled more strongly. “Ha!” Jeremiah panted. “So
that’s
how—”
    Soon he was able to hold his magic steady. The smells of cooking joined the thick odors of the Sarangrave.
    Somewhere in the depths of the wetland, a night bird cried: a wail of fright. Linden heard a sharp splash, a sucking sound. She may have heard the clamp of teeth. The cry was cut off. More distant birds squalled as they took flight. From other directions came the rustle of disturbed roosting; the squirm of thick bodies in mud; the plash of creatures that may have been fish. After its fashion, Sarangrave Flat was thick with life.
    Still nothing resembled the lurker. Nothing warned of the Feroce.
    Before long, Jeremiah let his Earthpower dissipate. “Ow!” he muttered cheerfully. “That’s hot.” Then he bit into the tuber. Through a mouthful of crunching, he announced, “Tastes like dirt.” But he did not stop eating.
    By degrees, Linden began to relax.
    Jeremiah took another root from Stave, summoned fresh theurgy. “Your turn, Mom,” he murmured as he worked. “It’s actually pretty good, if you pretend you can’t taste it.”
    “Stave?” Linden asked over her shoulder.
    “I keep watch, Chosen.” The
Haruchai
’s tone hinted at reproof. She should have known that he was always alert. “Doubtless the Ranyhyn also will give warning at need. Eat while you may.” A beat later, he added, “I have yet to discover clean water.”
    Linden hesitated to lower her guard. She had encountered the lurker more than once—and once was too often. But hunger overcame her uncertainty. With an effort, she turned her back on the Sarangrave.
    Jeremiah had nearly finished cooking a second tuber. He held it in his halfhand with his left cupped over it. A faint glow of heat radiated between his palms. When he judged that root was ready to eat, he handed it to Linden.
    “Just remember. Pretend you can’t taste it.”
    Stave was right, of course: when Linden studied the steaming tuber, she saw that it was safe to eat. More than that, it would strengthen her if she ate enough of it. Swallowing hard to clear the discomfiture from her throat, she took a bite.
    “Dirt,” she answered Jeremiah’s expectant gaze. “Just like dirt.” In fact, the crisp plant was bland at first; but it had a sour after-taste that made her yearn for the cleanliness of
aliantha
. Nevertheless she ate it while Jeremiah cooked another root for himself. She had no choice. She was facing a future which might never contain another