Linden might have wept then, overwhelmed by shock and need. Suddenly, however, she had no tears. The Mahdoubt had told her, Be cautious of love. It misleads. There is a glamour upon it which binds the heart to destruction. And days ago Covenant had tried to warn her through Anele—
Between one heartbeat and the next, she seemed to find herself in the presence, not of her loved ones, but of her nightmares.
In the emptiness and silence of the high forehall, the old man asked plaintively, “What transpires? Anele sees no one. Only Masters, who have promised his freedom. Is aught amiss?”
No one answered him. Instead Handir stepped forward and bowed to Covenant. “Ur-Lord Thomas Covenant,” he said firmly, “Unbeliever and Earthfriend, you are well come. Be welcome in Revelstone, fist and faith-and your companion with you. Our need is sore, and your coming an unlooked-for benison. We are the Masters of the Land. I am Handir, by right of years and attainment the Voice of the Masters. How may we serve you, with the Demondim massed at our gates, and their malice plain in the exhaustion of your mounts?”
“No,” Linden said before Covenant-or Jeremiah-could respond. “Handir, stop. Think about this.”
She spoke convulsively, goaded by inexplicable fears. The Demondim allowed us to escape yesterday. Then they pulled back so that”- she could not say Covenant’s name, or Jeremiah’s, not now; not when she had been forbidden to touch them- “so that these people could get through. Those monsters want this.” Her throat closed for a moment. She had to swallow grief like a mouthful of ashes before she could go on. “Otherwise they would have used the IIIearth Stone.”
The Demondim had not planned this. They could not have planned it. They had not known that she would try to protect the Land by snatching them with her out of the past. If Anele had not been possessed by a being of magma and rage, and had not encountered the Vile-spawn
Surely Covenant and Jeremiah would not be standing in front of her, refusing her, if some powerful enemy had not willed it?
Turning from the Voice of the Masters to Covenant, she demanded, “Are you even real”?”
The Dead in Andelain were ghosts; insubstantial. They could not be touched
Covenant faced her with something like mirth or scorn in his harsh gaze. “Hell and blood, Linden,” he drawled. “It’s good to see you haven’t changed. I knew you wouldn’t take all this at face value. I’m glad I can still trust you.”
With his left hand, he beckoned for one of the Humbled. When Branl stepped forward holding a torch, Covenant took the brand from him. Waving the flame from side to side as if to demonstrate his material existence, Covenant remarked, “Oh, were real enough.” Aside to Jeremiah, he added, “Show her.”
Still grinning, Jeremiah reached into the waistband of his pajamas and drew out a bright red toy racing car-the same car that Linden had seen him holding before Sheriff Lytton’s deputies had opened fire. He tossed it lightly back and forth between his hands for a moment, then tucked it away again. His manner said as clearly as words, See, Mom? See?
Linden studied his pajamas urgently for bullet holes. But the fabric was too badly torn and stained to give any indication of what had happened to him before he had been drawn to the Land.
None of the Masters spoke. Apparently they understood that her questions required answers.
Abruptly Covenant handed his torch back to Branl. As Branl withdrew to stand with Galt and Clyme, Covenant returned his attention to Linden.
“This isn’t easy for you. I know that.” Now his voice sounded hoarse with disuse. He seemed to pick his words as though he had difficulty remembering the ones he wanted. “Trust me, it isn’t easy for us either.
“We’re here. But we aren’t just here.” Then he sighed. “There’s no good way to explain it. You don’t have the experience to understand it.” His brief smile reminded her that she had rarely seen such an expression on his face. Roger had smiled at her more often. “Jeremiah is here, but Foul still has him. I’m here, but I’m still part of the Arch of Time.
“You could say I’ve folded time so we can be in two places at once. Or two realities.” Another smile flickered across his mouth, contradicted by the flames reflecting in his eyes. “Being part of Time has some advantages. Not many. There are too many limitations, and the strain is fierce. But I can still do a few tricks.”
For a moment, his hands reached out as if he wanted something from her; but he pulled them back almost at once.
“The problem with what I’m doing,” he said trenchantly, “is that you’ve got too much power, and it’s the wrong kind for me. Being in two places at once breaks a lot of rules.” This time, his smile resembled a grimace. “If you touch either one of us-or if you use that Staff-you’ll undo the fold. Time will snap back into shape.
“It’s like your son says,” he finished. “We’ll disappear. I’m not strong enough to keep us here.”
“Your son?” Liand breathed. “Linden, is this your son?”
“Liand, no,” Mahrtiir instructed at once. “Do not speak. This lies beyond us. The Ringthane will meet our questions when greater matters have been resolved.”
Linden did not so much as glance at them. But she could no longer look at Covenant. The torchlight in his eyes, and his unwonted smiles, daunted her. She understood nothing. She wanted to scoff at the idea of folding time. Or perhaps she merely yearned to reject the thought that she might undo such theurgy. How could she bear to be in his presence, and in Jeremiah’s, without touching them?
As if she were turning her back, she shifted so that she faced only her son.
“Jeremiah, honey-” she began. Oh, Jeremiah! Her eyes burned, although she had no tears. “None of this makes sense. Is he telling the truth?”
Had her son been restored to her for this? And was he truly still in Lord Foul’s grasp, suffering the Despiser’s wealth of torments in some other dimension or manifestation of time?
She was unable to see the truth for herself. Covenant and her son were closed to her, as they were to Stave and the Masters.
An Elohim had warned the Ramen as well as Liand’s people to Beware the halfhand.
Jeremiah gazed at her with a frown. He seemed to require a visible effort to set aside his excitement. You know he is, Mom.” His tone held an unexpected edge of reproach; of impatience with her confusion and yearning. “He’s Thomas Covenant. You can see that. He’s already saved the Land twice. He can’t be anybody else.”
But then he appeared to take pity on her. Ducking his head, he added softly, “What you can’t see is how much it hurts that I’m not just here.”
For years, she had hungered for the sound of her son’s voice; starved for it as though it were the nurturance that would give her life meaning. Yet now every word from his mouth only multiplied her chagrin.
Why could she not weep? She had always shed tears too easily. Surely her sorrow and bafflement were great enough for sobbing? Still her eyes remained dry; arid as a wilderland.
“All you have to do is trust me,” Covenant put in. “Or if you can’t do that, trust him.” He nodded toward Jeremiah. “We can do this. We can make it come out right. That’s another advantage I have. We have. We know what needs to be done.”
Angry because she had no other outlet, Linden wheeled back to confront the Unbeliever. “Is that a fact?” Her tone was acid. She had come to this: her beloved and her son were restored to her, and she treated them like foes. “Then tell me something. Why did the Demondim let you live? Hell, why have they left any of us alive? It was just yesterday that they wanted to kill us.”