Kevin's Watch

Her father's laughter, pouring like a flood of midnightfrom the old desuetude of the attic; a throng of nightmares in which she foundered; triumph hosting out of the dire cavern and plunge which had once been his frail mouth. You never loved me anyway. Never loved him—or anyone else. She had not mustered the bare decency to cry aloud as she strangled her mother, drove that sick woman terrified and alone into the last dark.

This was what Joan had felt, this appalled and desperate horror which made no difference of any kind, could not so much as muffle die sound of malice. Buried somewhere within herself, Joan had watched her own fury for Covenant's blood, for the taste of his pain. And now Linden looked out at him as if through moksha Jehannum's eyes, heard him with ears that belonged to the Raver. Lit only by the ghoulish emanations of the creatures, he stood in the bottom of the crevice like a man who had just been maimed. His damaged arm dangled at his side. Every line of his body was abused with need and near-prostration. The bruises on his face made his visage appear misshapen, deformed by the pressures building inside him. Where the wild magic was manacled. Yet his eyes gleamed like teeth, focused such menace toward the Ravers that moksha Jehannum's brother had not dared to strike him again.

"Take me to Foul,' he said. He had lost his mind. This was not despair: it was too fierce for despair. It was madness. The Banefire had cost him his sanity. "I'll give him the ring.'

His gaze lanced straight into Linden. If she had owned a voice, she would have cried out.

He was smiling like a sacrifice.

And Covenant went on sagging as though he bad begun to crumble. All his strength was gone. He could no longer pretend to hold himself upright. One by one, his loves had been stripped from him: he had nothing left. After all, he was only one ordinary man, small and human. Without wild magic, he was no match for the Despiser.

When he weakly lifted his half-hand, began tugging the ring from his finger. Linden forgave him. No choice but to surrender it. He had done everything possible, everything conceivable, had surpassed himself again and again in his efforts to save the Land. That he failed now was cause for grief, but not for blame.

Only his eyes showed no collapse. They burned like the final dark, the last deep midnight where no Sunbane shone.

His surrender took no more than three heartbeats. One to raise his hand, take hold of the ring. Another to pull the band from his finger as if in voluntary riddance of marriage, love, humanity. A third to extend the immaculate white gold toward the Despiser.

kevinswatch wrote:

(I still like the original book name better.)

-jay

Rigel wrote:I just hope they don't try to put Frodo on the next one...

wayfriend wrote:

Rigel wrote:I just hope they don't try to put Frodo on the next one...

Too late.

StevieG wrote:A quick question for the ignorant (ie. me) - what does Shall Pass Utterly refer to?