Behind him, he heard Anele muttering: a babble of agitation. But Linden’s stare held him. He did not want to drop her gaze, even for a moment. If he had been able to look into her eyes—into her heart—during his long participation in the Arch, he might have been content to remain there until all things ended.

“Does the Harrow know how to open the door?”

Linden’s question cut at Covenant: he had no numbness to cover that hurt. His scant memories became more useless whenever he needed them. All that time spent among the millennia, wasted—

Thickly he admitted, “You’ll have to ask the Ardent. I’ve forgotten. If I ever knew.” He had no idea how to open the portal himself. He recalled only that wild magic would shatter the Hazard. For this task, the Harrow had to depend on the Staff of Law.

It belonged to Linden.

Briefly she searched him as if she thought that the sheer force of her yearning would compel remembrance. But the pressure accumulating within her demanded release: he could see that without percipience. While his pulse labored helplessly in his chest, and the cold tightened its grip, she turned away, drawing his attention with her.

Her lips were pallid and chilled as she repeated her question to the Insequent. Covenant drew inferences of shivering from the sound of her voice.

Why else had the Ardent insisted on accompanying Linden and her companions?

The fat man did not reply directly. He did not face her. Perhaps he could not. Instead he released a few of his ribbands in a flutter that suggested negation.

“I cannot aid him here.” His voice was a taut wheeze. “This has been his life’s quest. It is not mine. Nor has it been any other living Insequent’s. I possess no knowledge, either earned or given, to ease his dilemma.”

Hurt by Linden’s desperation, Covenant demanded, “Then why exactly are you here? Your people didn’t pick you just because you happen to like new experiences. They must have had something more constructive in mind. Otherwise what was the point?”

The Ardent flinched as if a lash had licked across his back. His raiment expanded and contracted with every hoarse breath. Nevertheless Covenant’s challenge seemed to strike a spark of indignation or resolve within him. Summoning fortitude as though he had found it hidden within his garish apparel, he lifted his head, straightened his back. Slowly he turned. Strips of cerise and azure wiped the sweat from his forehead and his plump cheeks. They appeared to do so of their own volition.