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

face was a smear of darkness. Dawn was coming, but it did not ease the night. Without her health-sense, she would not have been able to trace the outlines of Jeremiah’s alarm.
    What—? she tried to ask; but she made no sound. Lingering comprehensions clogged her throat. And her neck was starting to ache. She might not be able to lift her head. The throb in her forehead became a rusty blade. Soon it would cut.
    Somehow she forced herself to ask aloud, “What—?”
    Quick with concern, Jeremiah told her, “The Feroce did—whatever it was. You went blank. When you didn’t come back, Stave hit you to take the Staff. I guess that broke you loose. Now they’re leaving.
    “But, Mom,” he added, hurrying. “The lurker—You’ve got to see this. If you can stand. If Stave didn’t break your neck.”
    Percipience assured Linden that her neck was not broken. Raising her head would hurt; but it would only hurt.
    “I,” she breathed through a rising pulse of pain. “Can. Try.”
    In one smooth motion, Stave scooped her from the ground. Cradling her neck, he held her in his arms for a moment. Then he lowered her legs gently. When her boots were settled on the dirt, he offered the Staff of Law to her weak grasp.
    “It is yours, Chosen. I have no virtue to wield its healing, but you are able to relieve the harm of my blow.”
    Her hands were numb. She could not feel the warm wood. Stave had hit her too hard. Nevertheless her Staff was there. She seemed to hear it murmuring to her, urging her to call on its benign strength.
    Instinctively she summoned black flames to lave her as if they were the waters of Glimmermere.
    Her heart seemed to stagger in its beat. Then Earthpower and Law took hold. Her shock and hurt began to ease. She recognized her surroundings more clearly, identified Jeremiah and Stave as if their substance had been affirmed by fire. In the distance, she discerned the Ranyhyn. They appeared to be waiting, watching; perhaps praying. When she turned her head hesitantly in the opposite direction, she saw Sarangrave Flat crouching along the horizon, a starker and more telic dark within the enshrouding night.
    “Look, Mom,” Jeremiah insisted. “You won’t believe it.”
    No proffered or sealed alliance could soften her fear of the lurker. But when she looked—when she focused her health-sense as well as her inadequate sight—she saw a single tentacle rising from the disturbed muck of the wetland. It stood taller than any Giant, far taller, and as erect as a sentinel. All of its many fingers, hundreds of them, were curled and clenched as though they feared an attack. Yet the lurker’s arm did not flinch or waver.
    Horrim Carabal. The Ardent had told Linden the monster’s name.
    She gripped her Staff more tightly, absorbed more fire.
    When it was certain of her attention, the tentacle dipped as if in acknowledgment or homage.
    “See that?” Jeremiah breathed. “Did you see that?” He sounded proud. “It bowed to you, Mom. The lurker
bowed
to you.”
    Before Linden could reply, the tentacle slipped back into its fouled waters. At first, it appeared to leave no ripples in its domain. But then she saw the massive arm squirm away, a crooked seethe through the stagnant pools and mud. As it retreated, the air became easier to breathe. In moments, Horrim Carabal had withdrawn beyond the reach of her perceptions.
    “Amazing,” Jeremiah proclaimed more strongly. “I don’t know what Covenant did, but he sure got that thing’s attention.”
    “Be wary, young Jeremiah,” Stave advised. “The lurker of the Sarangrave is malevolence incarnate. The actions of the Ranyhyn speak of this, if your own discernment does not.”
    Then he turned to Linden. “By your earlier account, Chosen, the glamour of the Feroce inspires you to relive events and perils belonging to your former world. We cannot interpret the lurker’s intent until you speak of this new visitation.”
    Carefully Linden leaned her head from side to side, tested the effects of Earthpower. Joints popped: stiffness lingered in her neck: pain still throbbed in her forehead. But she was essentially intact.
    And dawn was near. There was an unmistakable paling in the east.
    “Well, I know one thing, anyway.” Anele’s prophecy and Gallows Howe left her hoarse. “This is what the Ranyhyn were hoping for.
    “The last time, they did it on purpose. They took us close enough to the Sarangrave for the Feroce to find us. They wanted us to meet