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

meal.

    fter Jeremiah had finished preparing all of the roots, and he and Linden had eaten as much as their stomachs could tolerate, Stave left again to search farther for water.
    He was gone for what seemed like a long time. While he was absent, the Ranyhyn withdrew from the edge of the wetland, putting a little distance between themselves and the disturbing seethe of the waters. But they did not go far. Linden felt them clearly enough, resting between her and the Sarangrave.
    When the former Master returned, he announced that he had located safe water in an eddy cast by the turbid seethe of the Flat. It was admittedly brackish and tainted, but not so foul that it would make Linden and Jeremiah ill. There they were able to quench their thirst before the impulse to gag became too strong to suppress.
    Returning to the place where they had eaten, Linden urged her son to get some sleep while he could. Then she searched out a relatively level patch of ground for herself. With the Staff clasped across her chest, and her eyes closed against the dying of the stars, she tried to take her own advice.
    But her fears nagged at her. They seemed to crawl over her skin under her clothes. Soon, she knew, events might compel her to forsake her son. She had it in her to imagine a source of malachite, and the aid of the Giants, and a portal which would summon the
Elohim
. Those ideas only asked her to believe in the Ranyhyn and her friends and Jeremiah. But guarding the portal against the Worm would require a miracle, and she had none to offer. Therefore—
    Ah, God. Therefore she would have to go in search of a power great enough to accomplish what she could not. She would have to leave Jeremiah to the care of her friends. If she did not, everything that he hoped to accomplish would indeed be wasted.
    The fact that she lacked the courage was no longer relevant. Like Jeremiah, she would have to try.
    Only Covenant’s return might spare her. She yearned for that. But she could not suppose that he would come. The task which he had undertaken was too dangerous, and he was too far away. No, the burden of preserving Jeremiah’s construct was hers to bear in spite of her weakness. She could not hope to be spared. The Worm of the World’s End was coming. Nothing that lived would be spared.
    Gradually she found a kind of resignation. It felt like defeat, but it allowed her to drift into a sleep too stunned and shallow for dreams.

    ynyn’s shrill whinny awakened her with the suddenness of a knife. Even before Stave said her name, she began drawing black fire from her Staff.
    Reflexively she glanced at the sky to gauge the time. Dawn was near, although it did not promise a sunrise. Nevertheless a certain amount of light was coming. Without it, the air would have been colder. Soon the darkness would become gloaming.
    Then she felt the Ranyhyn running. Urgently they fled from the vicinity of the Sarangrave.
    Why did they not pause for their riders? They could have taken her and her companions to safety.
    But she had no time to think about such things. At Stave’s command, she surged to her feet.
    Jeremiah was ahead of her. He stood squinting in the direction of the Sarangrave. Before she could speak, he pointed.
    “The Feroce. They’re coming this way.” A heartbeat later, he added, “I can practically smell the lurker.”
    “Indeed, Chosen.” Stave sounded as calm as a clear day. “Now you must release the Staff of Law to me. I will ward it.”
    Like her son, Linden stared at the crouching malevolence of the wetland. At first, she discerned nothing except the movement of small bodies. As they bobbed past obstructions, they appeared to fade in and out of existence. But then they passed the last islets of trees and brush, and emerald flames the precise hue of the Illearth Stone opened in the darkness. At the same time, the air became thicker: more humid, rank with moisture.
    “How many?” She wanted confirmation. She counted six flames, therefore only three Feroce. But somewhere behind them she felt the bitter aura of the lurker. Surely the monster would not challenge her without more support?
    “Three,” Stave stated as if he could not be mistaken. “Also I sense but one tentacle. More may come, but the one lingers a stone’s throw behind its minions.”
    “Mom?” Jeremiah asked anxiously. “Shouldn’t you give Stave the Staff? You said those things can mess with your mind.”
    Linden ignored him. “This doesn’t make