More than once, in differing ways, Anele had opposed her impulse to heal him. Before the horserite, Stave had done the same in spite of the injuries that he had received from Esmer.

“I used to be a doctor. A healer for people with broken minds. And the one thing I learned is that I couldn’t heal them.” God, this was hard to admit! She had learned to accept the truth where her patients were concerned. But to say the same about her own son—“They had to heal themselves. My only real job was to help them feel safe so that maybe they would believe that they could risk healing themselves.

“I’m not much of a healer anymore.” She had committed such slaughter—“But possession is still wrong. I know because it’s been done to me.” By moksha Jehannum. “And I’ve done it myself.” To Covenant. “Covenant keeps telling me to trust myself, but that doesn’t make much sense.” She meant that it was impossible. “Not after what I’ve accomplished so far. What does make sense to me is trusting the Ranyhyn.

“They went to a lot of trouble to warn me.” She did not want to remember the images with which they had filled her thoughts. “I think it’s time that I stopped ignoring them.”

Attempts must be made, Mahrtiir had told her days ago, even when there can be no hope. But he had also said, And betimes some wonder is wrought to redeem us.

She anticipated objections. How could her companions grasp what she was trying to say? None of them had been taken by Ravers, or had participated in Joan’s lurid agony, or had become carrion. But Coldspray’s only reply was a frown of consideration. None of the other Giants offered an argument. Stave regarded Linden impassively; accepted her. And Mahrtiir—

The Manethrall relaxed visibly. She had eased some unspoken doubt or burden for him. His shoulders lifted as he announced, “Then I see no cause to alter our intent. Earlier we resolved to entrust our course to the will of the Ranyhyn. That choice I have approved. I do so again. Few as we are, we can select no better path. Let Stave of the Haruchai summon the great horses. Let us renew our intent to abide by their guidance.”

His counsel was a gift. Linden did not want to make more decisions. And in one respect, she was like the Ramen. The prospect of the Ranyhyn eased her spirits. She could find a kind of solace, comfort as visceral as a caress, in the kindness of Hyn’s eyes, the security of the mare’s strong strides.

Briefly the Ironhand considered Mahrtiir’s advice. For a moment, she scanned the reactions of her comrades. When she returned her attention to the Manethrall, and to Linden, her countenance opened into a broad grin.