She did not have to grasp every severed instant and restore its proper sequence. The Staff’s rich outpouring performed that repair for her. And Caerroil Wildwood’s runes made the wood’s theurgies more specific than her own instincts for health and wholeness; more definite. Almost immediately, the caesure started to implode. The collision of energies within Joan’s maelstrom caused a deflagration which shrank as it burned.

In moments, the Fall vanished as though it had been sucked away, inhaled by the sovereign rightness of healed Time.

Yet encroaching evils still wailed in the night. The caesure which had struck near Clyme surged closer. Joan’s initial attack continued the hard wrench-and-lurch of its advance.

And Anele had risen to his feet on bare dirt: crumbling sandstone and gypsum, exposed chunks of shale, the friable detritus of erosion and ancient wars.

Anele!

He radiated raw power as horrendous as the caesures, but far more conscious; full of intention and screaming rage. With gestures like shrieks of lava, he dismissed Giants, swept obstacles aside. A fulvous crimson like primal brimstone blazed in his blind eyes, the hue of fangs in the maws of the skurj.

Howling, he rushed at Liand.

Kastenessen had taken possession of the old man. In agony, the Elohim had come to rescue the croyel and claim Jeremiah.

Linden could not react quickly enough. She was too human; too horrified. But Stave had already left her side to stand in Anele’s path.

Long days ago, the former Master had lost an eye to the horde of the Demondim. Nevertheless he had struck down Anele then, borne the old man to safety. Now he did not hesitate to confront Kastenessen’s charge.

A slash of power flung Stave aside as if he were a handful of desiccated bones.

Standing in the heart of the orcrest’s clean light, Liand seemed unaware of his peril. Oblivious to every darkness, he touched Jeremiah’s forehead with his Sunstone: the sum and incarnation of his Stonedownor birthright.

Galt saw the threat. Of course he saw it. His flat eyes watched Anele. Yet the Master remained motionless, uncharacteristically trapped by conflicting commitments. He gripped Loric’s krill. And he was swift. He could have driven death into the center of Kastenessen’s fury. Could have killed Anele. Distrusting the old man’s heritage of Earthpower, Galt might have slain him without a qualm.

But he could not do so without releasing the croyel.

Freed from the blade at its throat, the monster would surely support Kastenessen. It might destroy or deflect Galt before the Humbled could harm Anele.

Perhaps Galt considered killing the croyel and Jeremiah before confronting Kastenessen. Perhaps he did not have time to weigh every implication, Covenant’s commands against the cause of Kevin’s Dirt.