“But I’m human now. As fallible as anybody. And I haven’t lived—” He groaned in frustration or protest. “I haven’t experienced the same things you have. I haven’t learned what you’ve learned. Just watching it happen doesn’t teach the same lessons.

“Hellfire and bloody damnation!” he cried suddenly. “Have we been through all this”—the reach of his arms seemed to imply the world—“without convincing you unearned knowledge is dangerous?”

He glared around the circle, defying anyone to contradict him. When no one replied, he continued in a low voice like the rasp of a file, “Even if I remembered absolutely everything, I couldn’t make your decisions for you. And I couldn’t explain things. I’m not qualified because I haven’t lived through it. Until you figured it out for yourselves—whatever it is—the only thing I could possibly do is mislead you.

“I need to be a leper. I need my mind the way it is. I don’t have any other defenses.”

Don’t touch me. I’m afraid of what I’m becoming.

While Linden twisted her hands together and chewed her lower lip, the Ironhand let the silence of the company accumulate until it seemed as dense as the advancing twilight. Then she pronounced as if she were settling an argument, “We are Giants, acquainted with the hazards of unearned knowledge. And if we were not, Linden Giantfriend’s fleshless tale is rife with admonishments.

“In one matter, the Manethrall has spoken sooth. Belaboring our many ignorances, we achieve naught. The time has come for trust, both in ourselves and in her whose heart has piloted us to our present Sargasso.

“Linden Giantfriend, we will gladly hear any word that you choose to offer.”

As one, Linden’s companions turned toward her as though she had the authority of an oracle.

She wanted to hide her face. More than that, she wanted to cry out, What makes you think I have the answer? Do you like what I’ve accomplished so far? But such plaints were as useless as self-pity. And she had long ago surrendered her right to shrug decisions and consequences aside. From the Verge of Wandering to Andelain, she had persuaded or coerced her friends to follow her. She could not pretend now that she had not already determined her own path.

In a small voice, she answered, “I can’t tell any of you what to do. I’ve made too many mistakes, and you didn’t deserve any of them. I can only tell you what I’m going to do.”

She took a shuddering breath, held it until she thought that she might be able to speak steadily. Then she said, “Sometimes I think that I learned everything I know in emergency rooms. I’ve been taught to take one problem at a time. And to start with the one that’s right in front of me.