“Oh, Covenant.” Linden verged on weeping. “God, I need you. Lord Foul has my son. I don’t know how to save him without you.”
I can’t help you unless you find me.
Only Covenant could stand up to the forces arrayed against her. Just be wary-
His eyes bled nacre on her behalf. But he shook his head. Harsh as a blow, he raised his halfhand to cover his mouth.
She understood in spite of her dismay. He, too, accepted the command of silence. No matter how she yearned for his guidance, he would not speak to her. His gaze begged her to make the right choice.
In this place, your deeds must be your own, unpersuaded for good or ill-
With every nerve, Linden ached to hear his voice; his counsel; his love. But the mere fact that he had come told her everything.
Trust yourself.
Ever since her battle with Roger and the croyel, she had striven toward this moment.
Do something they don’t expect.
Holding the Staff with her left hand, she planted its heel in the grass. With her right, she reached under her shirt and drew out Covenant’s ring. Deliberately she pulled its chain over her head. Then she closed the ring in her fist.
Either alone will transcend your strength, as they would that of any mortal. Together they will wreak only madness, for wild magic defies all Law.
But the gem of Loric’s krill could hold and focus any amount of power.
With her arms outstretched in welcome or supplication, Linden Avery the Chosen confronted her purpose.
“Wildwielder!” Infelice gasped. “Do not. I implore you!”
Linden did not glance at the Elohim. “Then free my son. Give him back to me.”
Are we not equal to all things?
Infelice made no answer. Instead the Harrow said disdainfully. “They will not. They can not. They fear your son more than they fear you. Though his worth to the Despiser is beyond measure, his gifts taint the self-contemplation of the Elohim.”
— a shadow upon the heart-
Specific constructs attract them. Jeremiah could make a door to lure the Elohim in and never let them out.
When he was little more than a toddler, he had been touched and maimed by Lord Foul.
That I do not forgive.
“Then leave me alone,” muttered Linden. “I have to concentrate.”
First health-sense and Loric’s gem: then wild magic: then Earthpower and Law.
But before she could begin, Galt stepped in front of her.
“Linden Avery, no,” he said flatly. “This we will not permit. Uncertain of you, we have withheld judgment. But now we deem that the peril is too great. Such extravagance is not wisdom. Nor is it seemly or salvific. You will unleash havoc, to the measureless delight of all who loathe life and the Land. Similar extreme passions performed the Ritual of Desecration, marred the Laws of Death and Life, and invoked the Sunbane.
“If you do not turn aside, we will wrest both Staff and ring from you because we must.”
An instant of absolute fury gathered in Linden, but she did not utter it.
The Humbled could not hear Stave’s thoughts. While Galt’s assertion lingered in the air, Stave charged into him; bore him thrashing to the ground.
At the same instant, Mahrtiir sprang from Narunal’s back. Flipping his garrote around Clyme’s neck, he wrenched the Master off balance.
Even sight would not have made the Manethrall a match for Clyme. But Bhapa and Pahni followed less than a heartbeat behind Mahrtiir. Pahni grappled for Clyme’s legs: Bhapa snagged one of Clyme’s hands with his fighting cord and heaved. Together the three Ramen pulled Clyme from his feet.
Simultaneously both Rhohm and the Ranyhyn Naybahn surged between Branl and Linden. Naybahn’s chest struck his rider’s: Rhohm collided with Branl from the side.
The great horses had declared themselves utterly to the service of the Chosen.
As Rhohm opposed Branl, Liand snatched out his orcrest; held it shining in his hand. “Do you dare, Master?” he shouted. “Will you accept the test of truth? If you refuse, you declare yourself unworthy to oppose the Chosen!”
The Masters ignored Liand. But Rhohm and Naybahn countered Branl’s speed as if they were herding him. Bhanoryl stood ready to intervene if Galt broke free of Stave. Mhornym and Hynyn circled Clyme’s struggle with the Ramen. Hyn guarded Linden.
Infelice turned away as if she scorned the indignity of physical combat. The Harrow remained apart, laughing bitterly. From near the rim of the vale, Elena and Caer-Caveral watched with anguish and ire. The High Lords contained their reactions, although Kevin’s jaws clenched and strained.
Covenant regarded them all with yearning and pity in every limned line of his form; but he did not move or speak.
The actions of Linden’s friends were like Caerroil Wildwood’s runes: they articulated her resolve. Grateful and ready, sure of her allies, she closed her eyes. In darkness, she began to tune her percipience to the precise splendour of the krill. When she opened her hidden door and found wild magic, she intended to release it in only one direction, using Loric’s gem to manage its possible devastation.
There. She could not imagine how Loric had forged his blade, but she saw its nature; its unconstrained potential. With her Staff warm in her hand, she felt every eldritch quality and significance of the gem, and of its position in the dagger. She descried how the edges and guards and hilt contributed to the complex purity of the stone. She sensed the meaning of its many facets. Immense lore and ineffable skill had provided for the shaping of the gem, designed the form and function of the dagger. There were no defined boundaries to the forces which could be wielded with Loric’s weapon.
Nothing intruded on Linden’s attention now. Perhaps the will of the Ranyhyn had thwarted the Humbled. In every age, the Haruchai had treasured the horses of Ra: no Master would strike at a Ranyhyn. And Stave and the Ramen and even Liand would fight without compunction.
The Harrow’s laughter had fallen silent. Infelice did not speak. The Dead remained still.
When Linden was confident of the krill, she turned her health-sense inward.
Proximity to the gem’s incandescence aided her; guided her. Brilliance led her through her human concealments, the secret implications of old doubts. And when she found the door, white fire responded eagerly to her desires. At her call, wild magic grew and branched within her like an image of the One Tree in purest argent, its boughs emblazoned with stars. During the space of two heartbeats, or three, flame accumulated until she held enough power to rive the night; alter the heraldry of the heavens.
When she released it, it became a ceaseless blast of lightning, a bolt which struck and flared and crackled between her right fist and Loric’s gem.
She had been assured-repeatedly- that she could not damage the Arch of Time. Not alone. She was not the ring’s rightful wielder: therefore her ability to use white gold was limited. But she did not feel limited. Her conflagration stopped the night: it seemed to stop the movement of one moment to the next. While her lightning rent the air, she possessed unfathomable might. Her choices and desires could shape reality.
Jeremiah, she thought: an uninterrupted blare of wild magic. I’m coming. The only way I know how.
Her fire became so extreme that she saw everything with her eyes closed: the Humbled and their opponents frozen in shock or chagrin or astonishment; the terror on Infelice’s face, the frightened calculation in the Harrow’s gaze; the scrutiny of the High Lords, solemn and alarmed. She saw Covenant consider her as if he were praying.