She only knew that Esmer had returned amid a swarm of ur-viles and Waynhim because she felt like vomiting.

Chapter 10. - By Evil Means

10.

By Evil Means

Kept upright only by the Cords, Linden stood like a ruin of herself; a crumbling edifice overgrown with consequences. The possibilities that she had surrendered to the Harrow had been restored. The warmth of the Staff lingered in her hands. While he lived, Stave would return Covenant’s ring to no one but her. But she had no idea what to do with such powers now. The cost—

The cost was of her own making, and it was too high.

She had exposed all of her friends to the source of Kevin’s Dirt. She had allowed Liand to be broken, perhaps killed. She had seen Stave nearly crippled by acid; had witnessed the Harrow’s murder. Helpless to stop either of them, she had watched Esmer transport Roger to safety or destruction. She had fought and fought, battling forces which surpassed her.

Because of her, Covenant’s hands—

This was the result. The Harrow’s remains lay, acid-bitten and melting, among the cracks and rubble of the floor. And Esmer had returned. She had no defense against him. The fact that the last ur-viles and Waynhim had arrived in his wake did not comfort her at all.

She had not slept since her first night in Andelain; had eaten nothing since her last meal of treasure-berries. Her emotional condition resembled her shirt: ripped along one hem to patch the Mahdoubt’s gown; plucked and snagged in headlong flight through Salva Gildenbourne; pierced by lead and death. The stains on her jeans mapped her fate:—written in water, the green sap of grass. Unexpressed tears filled her heart.

Leaning on one leg to spare her damaged knee, she could still feel the tremors of Esmer’s power in the marred stone.

On either side, Bhapa and Pahni supported her. Unlike Mahrtiir, the older Cord did not appear to feel diminished by crushing leagues of gutrock, beyond any prospect of open skies and plains and Ranyhyn. Accustomed to self-doubt, his concern was for his Manethrall and his companions, not himself. But Pahni was not merely daunted by powers and perils which other Ramen had never experienced. She was also terrified for Liand.

“Ringthane,” she breathed urgently. “Ringthane, heed me. Liand is grievously hurt. He nears death. Ringthane—Linden Avery—I love him. I implore your healing.”

Linden understood. Liand needed her. As did Stave. And perhaps Branl as well, although the Master would refuse her aid. The burns of the Giants tugged at her attention. But her heart wept for Jeremiah, who stood like a limp manikin in the croyel’s grasp. His bones shone as if they were on fire. She regarded the keen edge of the krill at the creature’s throat, and the killing brilliance of the gem, and Covenant’s unbearable courage, and could not move.