Linden lay limp in Stave’s arms. She saw nothing, heard nothing. In her snagged and punctured shirt, her stigmatized jeans, she looked as forlorn as a waif; too weak to continue breathing. Just for an instant, Covenant remembered that he had seen her like this before. When he had rescued her from the Clave, she had been as unreactive; as beaten. Turiya Herem had touched her, and she had fled into herself to escape the implications of the Raver’s malice.

But she had recovered. After a while, she had come back to Covenant. He had to believe that she would so do again.

Lord Foul had proclaimed that her fate was written in water. Perhaps the Despiser had spoken more truly than he knew.

Cursing the ease with which he was distracted, Covenant refused other memories, less immediate prayers. He had no time. Grimly he forced himself to look at Stave rather than Linden.

He did not need words. He saw swift comprehension in the gleam of Stave’s eye. For the sake of their companions, however, so that he would not be misunderstood, Covenant forced himself to say, “I want my ring. I’ll give it back. If any of us live through this.”

Solemn as an icon, Stave nodded. Cradling Linden, he opened one of his hands; offered Covenant’s wedding band and its chain to the Unbeliever.

Unaccustomed to his recent amputation, Covenant clutched at the chain. Awkwardly he hooked it with two fingers to ensure that he did not drop it. Then he lifted it over his head so that the ring hung against his chest.

Muttering again, “I’ll give it back,” he turned to confront She Who Must Not Be Named.

She heaved closer. Heat beat against his face, parched his eyes: the fury of the burning lake and the bane’s passion. If he had not been drenched, his clothes might have caught fire. Her mouths gaped and gnashed, brandishing their teeth. Their shrill roar overcame the thunderous plunge of waters. The bottomless thud of Her heartbeat made his bones tremble.

At the end of the cavern, the flames began to die as the flood extinguished the last of the skurj. But the bane fed the conflagration around Her huge bulk. Fire lapped at the jutting tips of stalagmites, the fanged ends of stalactites, the stubborn travertine and granite and limestone of the walls. Covenant’s jeans and T-shirt steamed until he seemed wreathed in mortality; but the heat hurt only the exposed skin of his face and arms.

While She Who Must Not Be Named readied Herself to attack, he raised his voice against Her.

“Listen to me!” he shouted with all the authority at his command. “You can kill us whenever you want! But first you should listen to me!

“You’ve forgotten what you are!”

Looming high, the bane paused as though he had taken Her by surprise.