And his leprosy—Ah, God. His leprosy was growing worse, exacerbated by the pall of Kevin’s Dirt. Here in Andelain, the effects of that dire fug were muted. Perhaps the Wraiths blunted the evil which Kastenessen, Esmer, and moksha Raver had inflicted upon the Upper Land. Nevertheless Kevin’s Dirt remained: Linden tasted it when she peered up at the stars and the night sky. Already Covenant’s hands and feet were almost entirely numb. If his condition continued to deteriorate, it was only a matter of time until his sight began to fail.

He moved awkwardly, as though he had lost or forgotten precise control over his muscles. Yet he seemed unaware of his ailment. Instead his attention was focused on the krill—or on the unpredictable slippage of his thoughts.

“Someone,” he remarked as if this idea followed from what he had been saying. “I forget who. I want to think it was Mhoram, but it may have been Berek. When he was rallying the scraps of his army after he came back from Mount Thunder.

“He said—” Covenant paused; closed his eyes for a moment. Frowning at the effort of coherent recall, he recited, “ ‘There is no doom so black or deep that courage and clear sight may not find another truth beyond it.’” Then he looked at Clyme, Galt, and Branl in turn. “Does that make sense to you? It should. But if it doesn’t—”

Stiffly he started walking again, pacing his circle around Loric’s krill as if he sought to circumscribe his own confusion; contain it somehow. “It’s my fault, really. I asked you to protect Revelstone, but I wasn’t clear. No one can blame you if they don’t like how you kept your promise. I didn’t tell you I wanted you to protect what Revelstone means.”

He seemed to think that the Masters—like Linden—might crave his absolution. Against every obstacle, he struggled to keep faith with the deeds and necessities which had brought the Land to its last crisis.

While Covenant talked, Liand approached Mahrtiir. Softly the Stonedownor asked, “Manethrall, would it not be well to send Bhapa and Pahni in search of hurtloam? Surely some may be found among Andelain’s riches of health and wonder. I know not whether Thomas Covenant’s mind may be healed—or whether, as Linden has averred, the attempt would be unwise. Yet the strange corruption which gnaws at his flesh—”

“No!” With an almost audible jolt, Covenant’s awareness recovered its focus. Suddenly he was present, as vivid as a seer. Wheeling, he faced Liand and Mahrtiir. “No hurtloam,” he said sharply. “I don’t expect you to understand. But I need this.” He brandished his hands. “I need to be numb. It doesn’t just make me who I am. It makes me who I can be.”