back, but I didn’t do it right. He isn’t whole.
“And he has leprosy.”
To that, Covenant had no answer.
Already falling, he turned back to the Humbled.
“As for you. I command—” His voice frayed and failed: he could not command anyone. But because he loved Linden, he managed to find a few more words. They felt like the last words in the world. “She’s more important than I am. If you have to choose, choose her. She’s the only one who can do this.”
He wanted to say more, but his wounds were too much for his mortal flesh. Within him, one age of the Earth bled into another, and he toppled to the grass as if he had been felled.
2.
Unfinished Needs
Linden Avery stood, staring and paralyzed, as if she had finally learned the true meaning of horror. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the outcome of her granite desperation. Long ago, she had been forced to watch her father’s suicide: in fear and pity, she had imposed her mother’s death: she had seen Thomas Covenant stabbed to death in his former world—and later slain again by the Despiser. A Raver had taught her to dread her own capacity for evil. Under Melenkurion Skyweir, she had been forced to do battle against her chosen son. But such things had become trivial. They were too small and human to inure her now.
Her mind was empty of words. She could not respond to Liand’s stricken empathy, or to the consternation and support of the Ramen, or to Stave’s rigid loyalty. The antagonism of the Humbled meant nothing to her. Neither Infelice nor the Harrow held any import. But she was not stunned or numb. She was not . She had not expended her remorse with weeping, or her rage with blows, or her revulsion—Nor had she been silenced by Covenant’s faltering attempts to explain himself, or by his inadequate affirmation. Instead she was crowded to bursting with dismay.
Dismay: not despair. Despair was darkness, the nailed lid of a coffin. Her dismay was a moral convulsion, the shock of seeing her whole reality distorted beyond recognition. She had left any ordinary loss of hope or faith behind as soon as she had realized that Covenant was not whole. Now she felt an appalled chagrin like the onset of concussion, simultaneously paralyzing and urgent. The cost of what she had done dwarfed thought. The only sentences remaining to her had been spoken by others; and they were tocsins.
She has roused the Worm of the World’s End.
She loved the Land. She loved Thomas Covenant and Jeremiah. The Ramen and the Ranyhyn and the Giants. Liand and Stave and poor Anele. Yet she had doomed them all. Resurrecting Covenant, she had given Lord Foul his heart’s desire.
Within her she holds the devastation of the Earth —
Through Anele, Sunder and Hollian had tried to warn her. He did not know of your intent. The Ranyhyn had tried: perhaps everyone had tried. There is strength in ire, Chosen. But it may also become a snare. Days ago, she had dreamed that she had become carrion: food for abhorrent things feasting on death. Confident and cruel, the Despiser himself had given her a vision of his intentions.
Nevertheless she had defied every caution. In fury at what had been done to her son, she had violated one of the essential Laws which made life possible, allowed the Earth to exist: the Laws which she should have served. In one flagrant act, she had broken every promise that she had ever made.
Good cannot be accomplished by evil means.
This was the result. Covenant sprawled facedown on the betrayed grass of Andelain. The old scar on his forehead, like the wound in his T-shirt, was hidden; but the strict silver of his hair was accusation enough. Long ago, Lord Foul’s efforts to kill him had burned him clean of venom and dross. The transformation of his hair was only one outcome of that savage caamora . Now the stark light of the krill appeared to concentrate there—and on his halfhand, emphasizing his lost fingers. They seemed to reach toward her in spite
“And he has leprosy.”
To that, Covenant had no answer.
Already falling, he turned back to the Humbled.
“As for you. I command—” His voice frayed and failed: he could not command anyone. But because he loved Linden, he managed to find a few more words. They felt like the last words in the world. “She’s more important than I am. If you have to choose, choose her. She’s the only one who can do this.”
He wanted to say more, but his wounds were too much for his mortal flesh. Within him, one age of the Earth bled into another, and he toppled to the grass as if he had been felled.
2.
Unfinished Needs
Linden Avery stood, staring and paralyzed, as if she had finally learned the true meaning of horror. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the outcome of her granite desperation. Long ago, she had been forced to watch her father’s suicide: in fear and pity, she had imposed her mother’s death: she had seen Thomas Covenant stabbed to death in his former world—and later slain again by the Despiser. A Raver had taught her to dread her own capacity for evil. Under Melenkurion Skyweir, she had been forced to do battle against her chosen son. But such things had become trivial. They were too small and human to inure her now.
Her mind was empty of words. She could not respond to Liand’s stricken empathy, or to the consternation and support of the Ramen, or to Stave’s rigid loyalty. The antagonism of the Humbled meant nothing to her. Neither Infelice nor the Harrow held any import. But she was not stunned or numb. She was not . She had not expended her remorse with weeping, or her rage with blows, or her revulsion—Nor had she been silenced by Covenant’s faltering attempts to explain himself, or by his inadequate affirmation. Instead she was crowded to bursting with dismay.
Dismay: not despair. Despair was darkness, the nailed lid of a coffin. Her dismay was a moral convulsion, the shock of seeing her whole reality distorted beyond recognition. She had left any ordinary loss of hope or faith behind as soon as she had realized that Covenant was not whole. Now she felt an appalled chagrin like the onset of concussion, simultaneously paralyzing and urgent. The cost of what she had done dwarfed thought. The only sentences remaining to her had been spoken by others; and they were tocsins.
She has roused the Worm of the World’s End.
She loved the Land. She loved Thomas Covenant and Jeremiah. The Ramen and the Ranyhyn and the Giants. Liand and Stave and poor Anele. Yet she had doomed them all. Resurrecting Covenant, she had given Lord Foul his heart’s desire.
Within her she holds the devastation of the Earth —
Through Anele, Sunder and Hollian had tried to warn her. He did not know of your intent. The Ranyhyn had tried: perhaps everyone had tried. There is strength in ire, Chosen. But it may also become a snare. Days ago, she had dreamed that she had become carrion: food for abhorrent things feasting on death. Confident and cruel, the Despiser himself had given her a vision of his intentions.
Nevertheless she had defied every caution. In fury at what had been done to her son, she had violated one of the essential Laws which made life possible, allowed the Earth to exist: the Laws which she should have served. In one flagrant act, she had broken every promise that she had ever made.
Good cannot be accomplished by evil means.
This was the result. Covenant sprawled facedown on the betrayed grass of Andelain. The old scar on his forehead, like the wound in his T-shirt, was hidden; but the strict silver of his hair was accusation enough. Long ago, Lord Foul’s efforts to kill him had burned him clean of venom and dross. The transformation of his hair was only one outcome of that savage caamora . Now the stark light of the krill appeared to concentrate there—and on his halfhand, emphasizing his lost fingers. They seemed to reach toward her in spite
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