“Not this time,” she replied roughly. “I could have known. I just couldn’t let anything stop me.”

Under Melenkurion Skyweir, she had learned that she was nothing without Covenant. Her need to rescue Jeremiah demanded more of her than she contained.

And she did not forgive.

Her response hurt Liand. It may have pained the Ramen and the Swordmainnir—or vindicated the Humbled. But Covenant distracted them before anyone could protest.

Unsteadily he pulled away from Mahrtiir, struggled to his feet. Frowning, he considered everyone around him. When he looked at Linden, however, she discerned that his gaze did not entirely focus on her. Instead he gave the impression that he saw someone else in her place: another version of herself, perhaps, or a different woman altogether.

“Think of the Creator and the Despiser as brothers,” he remarked in an abstract tone. “Or doppelgangers of each other. That isn’t really true. The concepts are too big for words. But it’s a way to try to understand. It’s at least as true as saying the stars are the Creator’s children. Or the Arch of Time is like a rainbow. You could say Creation and Despite are the same thing, but they take such radically different forms they might as well be mysteries to each other. It’s all a paradox. It has to be.”

In another, more consecutive state of mind, he might have said, There is hope in contradiction.

“Covenant?” Linden asked as though his name had been wrung from her against her will. Surging upright, the Manethrall inquired like an echo, “Ringthane?”

Covenant did not respond. He may not have heard them. Instead he turned to Liand.

“I like your orcrest analogy.” He spoke as if he were continuing a casual conversation that he and the Stonedownor had begun earlier. “It doesn’t really apply. You didn’t risk anybody except yourself. Trying to bring rain didn’t make the danger you were already in worse. Earthpower and Law can’t stop the skurj. Not while Kevin’s Dirt is still there. But you’re still right. There are always surprises. And sometimes they help.”

Around him, the Giants shuffled their feet. They had heard too many tales about the Unbeliever, the ur-Lord—and none of those stories matched the man who now occupied Covenant’s body.

Linden tried again. “Covenant? Where are you? In your mind? What are you remembering?”

“Linden?” He cocked an eyebrow at her as if he were startled to find her near him; as if he had expected her to flee like Infelice. Still his manner remained abstract, almost nonchalant. “Do you remember Diassomer Mininderain?”

“No.” Her reaction was far more personal than his. “I mean yes. I’ve only heard the name. Sunder told us about her,” when he had led Covenant and her away from Mithil Stonedown into the ravages of the Sunbane millennia ago. “The Rede of the Clave mentioned her.”

Covenant nodded. “That’s right. It’s almost true.” As if he were quoting lines which he had heard only moments ago, he recited,