“This neither turiya Herem nor the Ranyhyn foresaw. They could not. It is the unlikely outcome of your encounter with Horrim Carabal. Therefore the Timewarden’s mate fears it. She is roused to frenzy, and her caesures imperil all who travel here. For that reason, the Ranyhyn have hastened to accomplish their loathsome purpose.”

This time, Linden shook her head. Infelice’s explanation raised as many questions as it answered. The Feroce had almost succeeded in delivering the Staff of Law to the lurker—and now they moved against the skest? But Linden did not allow herself to be distracted. Covenant was still alive: in effect, Infelice had said so. Other issues were more important.

Jeremiah was more important. He was balancing the first layers of his second wall, fusing them with Earthpower—and far from done. He might need hours yet.

He had enough bone here to fashion an entire castle.

“All right,” she repeated, speaking slowly; stalling for time. “That’s a start. Let’s move on. You said that coming here enables atrocity. Jeremiah’s purpose is an abomination. What do you imagine his purpose is? What do you think he’s making?”

She could guess. Roger had said about the Elohim, They’re vulnerable to certain kinds of structures. Like Vain. Specific constructs attract them. Exactly the right materials in exactly the right shape. Other structures repel them. Or blind them. By that means, the croyel had concealed itself in the Lost Deep.

Jeremiah’s edifice of bone might well be a trap of some kind. But Linden wanted to hear the truth from Infelice.

“Did the halfhand not speak of this?” The Elohim’s tone was bitter; but a note of sorrow softened the angry harmonics of her music. “The boy will ensnare us. He will deprive us of life and meaning and hope.”

Your kid makes doors. Doors through time. Doors between realities. And doors that don’t go anywhere. Prisons. When you walk into them, you never come out.

Linden ached to move so that she stood between Infelice and Jeremiah; but she forced herself to remain where she was. As long as she contrived to keep Infelice’s attention fixed on her, away from Jeremiah—

Stave watched the Elohim with his arms folded as though he had the strength to defy her.

“I’m going to pretend that that makes sense,” Linden drawled, “although why Jeremiah would care what happens to you is beyond me. Tell me why—”

“Chosen,” Stave said abruptly: a warning.

An instant later, the three Ranyhyn wheeled aside, lunged away from each other; and a caesure erupted where Khelen had been standing on the far side of the bones.

It was as ravenous as one of the skurj; as irresistible as a Sandgorgon. And it was close—! Its proximity filled her throat with vomit. In three more heartbeats, it would surge near enough to swallow Jeremiah.