At dawn, he learned that Clyme was right. The sun first rose into a sky appalled by a taint that resembled dust and ash or smoke; but soon dark clouds came boiling over the Plains, and rain began to spatter down, apparently driven by winds from every direction at once. Before Covenant had finished quenching his thirst and eating more aliantha, his T-shirt and jeans were soaked. When he mounted the horse, he saw that the beast’s endurance had been reduced to gritted misery. It had not rested not enough to restore its spirit. Nevertheless the Harrow’s charger strained to resume its effortful gallop.

In rain and contending winds, Covenant and the Humbled continued their eastward rush.

Sometime during the night, the caesures had ceased. Presumably Joan had exhausted herself. Or turiya Raver may have been given new instructions. But Covenant refused to think about them. He tried not to think about Linden. Wrapping his arms across his chest, he endeavored to ignore the rain by emptying his mind of everything except the heat of the krill: the heat, yes, but not the gem from which it radiated, or the implications of wild magic. If he allowed himself to yearn for anything more than ordinary warmth from Loric’s eldritch dagger, Joan or turiya might sense his attention. They might even be able to locate him.

Emulating Jeremiah’s vacancy, Covenant rode and rode; opened his mouth to the rain when he was thirsty; ate aliantha when the fruit was given to him; and accepted his regret whenever Linden slipped into his thoughts.

Finally a change in the weather drew him out of his willed somnolence. The day had reached late afternoon, and the rain had stopped. Perhaps because the winds had resolved themselves into a bitter blast out of the west, the storm clouds had scudded away, leaving behind a sky mired with ash and fine dirt like the fug of a distant calamity.

Yet the murk in the air appeared to come from the east. Against the wind—

Now on the horizon to his right Covenant could make out the first jagged outcroppings of the Shattered Hills. And perhaps a league or two ahead of the horses, the terrain rose in a long slow sweep as if the ground were gathering itself to plunge over the edge of the world.