Stave and Infelice and Linden and the Ranyhyn and his racecar and Anele’s legacy and a construct of bone all tried to find words at the same time: they tripped over each other and fell and bounced back up like tumblers performing some implausible feat of dexterity. Laughing at his own happy incoherence, he repeated his verbal pratfalls until he occasionally achieved a complete sentence. And the Giants laughed with him, rapt and delighted.
Only Stave stood apart. His native dispassion did not waver. If he took note of Linden’s exchange with Mahrtiir, he feigned otherwise.
Whispering so that she would not weep again, Linden told Mahrtiir, “He doesn’t want to remember what he’s been through. I can’t think about anything else. No one suffers like that without being damaged.”
The Manethrall stepped back to regard her with his bandaged gaze. Still softly, he replied, “That I comprehend, Ringthane. Who would if I do not, I who have lost eyes and use in a cause which exceeds my best strength? But I will speak once again of trust. Hear his vitality and joy. Hear him well. Far more than his wounds have been restored to him, and to you. If a lifetime of your love has not already wrought some healing, it will do so when its time is ripe.”
Linden had no response. She recognized his effort to reassure her, but she was not comforted. Jeremiah was not her only concern: other anxieties were tightening around her. His emergence required her to shift how she thought of herself.
She had no idea what had happened to Thomas Covenant. League by league, Kevin’s Dirt swelled closer, expanding the ambit of Kastenessen’s wrath and pain. Her awareness of a visceral alarm in the earth was growing stronger. And the Worm of the World’s End was at work. Where its power was concerned, she doubted nothing that Infelice had told her; nothing that she had heard from Anele.
The company’s circumstances, and the Land’s, implied an imperative need for action. Now that she had rejoined her friends, she felt the pressure of events mounting. Instinctively she believed that she and her companions had to make decisions and act on them. Now, while they still could.
Yet she restrained herself for the sake of her son’s rambling tale; and also for the sake of the Giants, so that they could gauge him for themselves. Raising both of her hands, she bowed her thanks and respect to Mahrtiir in the Ramen fashion. Then she retrieved the Staff of Law and went to the stream to quench her thirst. The Giants still carried some portion of the Ardent’s largesse. Surely she could afford to eat a meal and rest before she imposed her tension on her friends?
Yes, she could afford that—but she could not do it. When Jeremiah had given his audience a fairly complete description of what had occurred during his rescue or escape, she went in a gust of compulsion to join Rime Coldspray and Frostheart Grueburn and the rest of the Swordmainnir.
“Have you felt it?” she asked without preamble. “Kevin’s Dirt is coming this way. Kastenessen knows where we are, and he intends to hurt us if he can. At this rate, Mahrtiir and I will start to lose our health-sense sometime around dawn. Even Jeremiah may be affected. And Kevin’s Dirt is going to limit what I can do with my Staff. I won’t be able to fight the
skurj
. I may not even be able to fight the Sandgorgons.
“Can you feel it?”
One by one, the Giants turned toward her. She could not make out their expressions by starlight; but her nerves felt their enjoyment of Jeremiah subside, replaced by more somber emotions. The last of their laughter faded into the night. Standing with their Ironhand, the Swordmainnir regarded Linden gravely.
“Linden Giantfriend,” Coldspray replied with an air of formality, “we have felt it. But it will not assail us until dawn, as you have observed. For that reason among others, it is not our immediate consideration.
“You have ridden long and long without food
Only Stave stood apart. His native dispassion did not waver. If he took note of Linden’s exchange with Mahrtiir, he feigned otherwise.
Whispering so that she would not weep again, Linden told Mahrtiir, “He doesn’t want to remember what he’s been through. I can’t think about anything else. No one suffers like that without being damaged.”
The Manethrall stepped back to regard her with his bandaged gaze. Still softly, he replied, “That I comprehend, Ringthane. Who would if I do not, I who have lost eyes and use in a cause which exceeds my best strength? But I will speak once again of trust. Hear his vitality and joy. Hear him well. Far more than his wounds have been restored to him, and to you. If a lifetime of your love has not already wrought some healing, it will do so when its time is ripe.”
Linden had no response. She recognized his effort to reassure her, but she was not comforted. Jeremiah was not her only concern: other anxieties were tightening around her. His emergence required her to shift how she thought of herself.
She had no idea what had happened to Thomas Covenant. League by league, Kevin’s Dirt swelled closer, expanding the ambit of Kastenessen’s wrath and pain. Her awareness of a visceral alarm in the earth was growing stronger. And the Worm of the World’s End was at work. Where its power was concerned, she doubted nothing that Infelice had told her; nothing that she had heard from Anele.
The company’s circumstances, and the Land’s, implied an imperative need for action. Now that she had rejoined her friends, she felt the pressure of events mounting. Instinctively she believed that she and her companions had to make decisions and act on them. Now, while they still could.
Yet she restrained herself for the sake of her son’s rambling tale; and also for the sake of the Giants, so that they could gauge him for themselves. Raising both of her hands, she bowed her thanks and respect to Mahrtiir in the Ramen fashion. Then she retrieved the Staff of Law and went to the stream to quench her thirst. The Giants still carried some portion of the Ardent’s largesse. Surely she could afford to eat a meal and rest before she imposed her tension on her friends?
Yes, she could afford that—but she could not do it. When Jeremiah had given his audience a fairly complete description of what had occurred during his rescue or escape, she went in a gust of compulsion to join Rime Coldspray and Frostheart Grueburn and the rest of the Swordmainnir.
“Have you felt it?” she asked without preamble. “Kevin’s Dirt is coming this way. Kastenessen knows where we are, and he intends to hurt us if he can. At this rate, Mahrtiir and I will start to lose our health-sense sometime around dawn. Even Jeremiah may be affected. And Kevin’s Dirt is going to limit what I can do with my Staff. I won’t be able to fight the
skurj
. I may not even be able to fight the Sandgorgons.
“Can you feel it?”
One by one, the Giants turned toward her. She could not make out their expressions by starlight; but her nerves felt their enjoyment of Jeremiah subside, replaced by more somber emotions. The last of their laughter faded into the night. Standing with their Ironhand, the Swordmainnir regarded Linden gravely.
“Linden Giantfriend,” Coldspray replied with an air of formality, “we have felt it. But it will not assail us until dawn, as you have observed. For that reason among others, it is not our immediate consideration.
“You have ridden long and long without food
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