Higher he rose, gaining momentum with very flourish of his raiment. At once lugubrious and majestic, he sailed upward until his head found the light. Some of the cloths supported him by pressing down on the bridge. Others anchored themselves among the stalactites. As he moved, they shifted to hold him aloft.

Perhaps he believed that by transporting himself in this manner he would avoid attracting the attention of the bane.

The Harrow barked a humorless laugh. “Truly the Ardent has been entrusted with the wishes and powers of the Insequent. His timidity and arrogance encompass every facet of our kind. Thus the folly of their presumption is revealed. The Earth would have been better served if they had not heeded their seers and augurs.

“Come!” he commanded Linden’s company imperiously. “This delay is mindless. It will not become wisdom by protraction.”

With a snort of contempt, he headed into the radiance of the Lost Deep.

No one followed him.

Jeremiah’s plight nagged at Linden like an untreated wound. She should have rushed past the Harrow; should have fled from interminable days of anguish and inadequacy toward her son. But she had spent too much of her frayed spirit against the wards: she felt unable to go on without Covenant and her friends; and none of them moved. Even Liand and Stave did not. Instead they all stood as if in attendance, watching the Ardent’s approach: the Swordmainnir with laughter in their eyes, the Masters impassively, Bhapa and Pahni in daunted wonder.

Only Covenant, Anele, and Mahrtiir did not regard the heavy Insequent in the air. And only Covenant spoke.

Peering past the rim of the abyss, he muttered, “She’s going to get bigger. Every time She eats. Every time somebody who doesn’t know or care how dangerous She is comes down here.”

He showed no sign of vertigo. He must have been reliving a conversation which had taken place long ago.

Limned in pink and ecru and subtle viridian, the Harrow paused to wait again, cursing.

Past the Hazard’s apex, the Ardent began his descent. And as he drifted forward, he gradually contracted his apparel so that he sank toward the bridge. Nearing the span’s base, his bound feet were a mere arm’s length from its surface. Softly as a bubble, he touched down as he reached the ledge.

His round face was flushed as though he had outrun the limits of his stamina. Sweat streamed from his forehead and cheeks, staining the neckbands of his garments. His eyes glared starkly, reflecting the pale illumination.

With his feet on the stone, he took two unsteady steps toward Linden. Then he stopped. Though he faced her, his gaze avoided hers.