Good start, Vraith. Definitely my eyes were opened about a few things as I read this chapter again, and you have added more. I don't have time to add all I have to say just now but I did want to make a start to get things moving.
The Demise of Joan
People can argue about how significant Joan is to the story. I think if you consider what she signifies to her husband, and her impact on the Land in the Last Chronicles, I think she is rather significant. Being so, her death and the manner of it is worth discussing.
My original impression on the first reading of this chapter was I was very disappointed that a better outcome could not have been found for her. She gets no redemption, she doesn't turn away from her course, no one aneles her suffering, she finds no peace. (I think that this is a fair guide to what is in store for Roger, or even Foul. Donaldson is not trying to make a happy ending for everyone.)
Upon rereading and further reflection, I got tied up in knots trying to believe Donaldson when he tells me Covenant is responsible for her. Because I don't see his hand in what became of her, not unless you want to travel down a path so indirect that any guilt or blame attenuates to zero by the time you reach the end.
But last night I have seen that I may have misunderstood the author's intent.
In [i]Against All Things Ending[/i] was wrote:If Joan’s caesures had not damaged the Law of Time, Linden could not have resurrected Covenant. She could not have roused the Worm of the World’s End. She was not a rightful wielder of wild magic. She did not have enough power. No, the original wounds to the structure of Life and Death had been delivered by Elena, Sunder, and Caer-Caveral. But Falls kept those hurts fresh. Without them, Linden would have failed.
By the inexorable logic of guilt, the fault was Covenant’s.
Involuntarily he nodded. He did not have it in him to contradict turiya. Like Joan, he had been shattered. The fact that she had fallen too far to be retrieved altered nothing. Indeed, he had not merely made her what she was. By permitting himself to be withdrawn from the Arch, when he could have refused the summons to Andelain, he had removed a vital barrier against her madness and wild magic. To that extent, he had enabled the barren future within which he was trapped.
Yes, Covenant "made her what she was". But he did that just by being a leper. He didn't
do anything. He was just a situation which Joan was unable to confront and survive, because she utterly lacked that kind of courage.
But the guilt and responsibility arise elsewhere. For Joan is a disaster waiting to happen. Mad and armed with magic, she threatens the Earth and the Arch.
And Covenant created that situation.
He
chose to remove himself from the Arch.
When he could have refused. He chose to thereby weaken it. He chose to thereby elevate the Joan issue to the stature of world-threatening.
He had enabled the barren future within which he was trapped.
(And if you subscribe to the notion that Covenant maneuvered Linden into resurrecting him - and I do - then he is also responsible for even having the option of the resurrection that he accepted.)
Can you believe that the Timewarden made this choice knowing full well the consequences, the inevitable outcome that Joan would thereby be in a position to destroy Everything? I do. And if you make that kind of decision, you're responsible for that outcome.
It goes without saying that he was responsible for the destruction of the Law of Death, and for the destruction of the Law of Life, which makes Joan's
caesures possible. Which made it so that Linden could even attempt to resurrect him. So that's all added responsibility.
So this, then, is what I think: The responsibility Covenant has for Joan is the responsibility for Joan being such a huge threat. Because he, in total awareness, chose to weaken the Arch by being resurrected. The cost of that choice is that Joan is now a priority problem. And Covenant has the responsibility for solving that problem. That is
the inexorable logic of guilt that is being discussed.
I actually find myself somewhat relieved as I discover this. The notion that I would have to comprehend and assume that Covanent was responsbile for Joan's victimization by Foul was a little too much for me. (Although there is the possibility that I am so eager to not see it that way that I am finding excuses.)
Now, to bring it home: with this kind of responsibility structure, the way Covenant deals with Joan takes on a more satisfactory aspect. This is not a man who thinks that the best answer to Joan's situation is to put her out of her misery. This is a man who thinks that the best answer to the Earth's situation is to neutralize Joan.
Under those circumstances, I can see how the knife blow was the only way to do that. He barely was able to even reach her. She was so much more powerful than he was. All he had was the
krill. She was insane - he couldn't reason with her. He was weak - he couldn't subdue her. He only had a moment to act before she blew him off the map. It looks like that was the only way to save the Earth.
My only question is, is this what Covenant meant, what he had forseen, when he thought:
Everything that he required of himself while life remained in his body depended on his ability to grip and hold.
wood and stone, orcrest and refusal
Another thing that intrigued me in this chapter is the fact that the forestals were repeating things that Anele had said.
In [i]Against All Things Ending[/i] was wrote:Together they sang, "Only rock and wood know the truth of the Earth. The truth of life."
"But wood is too brief," Dhorehold of the Dark intoned. "All vastness is forgotten."
"Unsustained," answered Andelain’s Magister, "wood cannot remember the lore of the Colossus, the necessary forbidding of evils - "
"There is too much," the Forestals agreed as one. "Power and peril. Malevolence. Ruin."
"And too little time," added Syr Embattled. "The last days of the Land are counted. Without forbidding, there is too little time."
Like an antiphonal response, the Forestals chanted, "Become as trees, the roots of trees. Seek deep rock."
[...] "There must be forbidding. The end must be opposed by the truths of stone and wood, of orcrest and refusal."
Compare this with what Anele had said earlier, in Andelain.
In [i]Fatal Revenant[/i] was wrote:Urgently he hissed. "Only rock and wood know the truth of the Earth. The truth of life. But wood is too brief. Morinmoss redeemed the covenant, the white gold wielder. The Forestal sang, and Morinmoss answered. Now those days are lost. All vastness is forgotten. Unsustained, wood cannot remember the lore of the Colossus, the necessary forbidding of evils-"
[...] "There is too much. Power and peril. Malevolence. Ruin. And too little time. The last days of the Land are counted." His voice became a growl of distress. "Without forbidding, there is too little time."
[...] Anele urged Linden. "Seek deep rock. The oldest stone. You must. Only there the memory remains."
Anele gnashed his teeth. "Forget understanding," he snapped. "Forget purpose." His eyes were hints, nacre and frenetic, in his shadowed face. "Forget the Elohim. They, too, are imperiled. Become as trees, the roots of trees. Seek deep rock."
When these words were the ravings of a madman, they were easy to dismiss. But now, the forestals ...
It doesn't end there. Anele continues this line of rhapsodizing when he is in the Lost Deep. Based on the reaction of the Ardent, this is a very significant moment. And Covenant finds it unusually significant as well.
In [i]Against All Things Ending[/i] was wrote:Almost at once, however, Linden breathed, "That’s not possession. It’s Earthpower. He’s on fire with it. His birthright - I’ve never seen it so strong. Or so close to the surface."
With an air of respect, even of reverence, the Ardent backed away from Anele; cleared a space around the old man.
In a voice like stone and apprehension and sorrow crushed together until they were in danger of crumbling, the old man said distinctly, "It is here."
The words themselves, or the tone in which Anele spoke them, ignited memories in Covenant -
Seek deep rock.
- memories so recent and explicit that they should have been impossible to forget.
The Harrow had brought Linden’s company to stone so deep that no human capable of interpreting it had ever touched it before.
In Salva Gildenbourne, Anele had tried to explain something to Linden. Who else had heard him? Who else, apart from Covenant before his reincarnation? Stave? Liand?
"Here, Anele?" Linden asked in steam and cold. "What’s here? What is the stone telling you?"
What had awakened the old man’s inherited strength?
"The wood of the world has forgotten." Anele sounded as harsh as the rock beneath him. "It cannot reclaim itself. It requires aid. Yet this stone remembers."
Covenant remembered other things instead. A different time. A distant place.
Wood is too brief. All vastness is forgotten.
[...] "There must be forbidding."
Without forbidding, there is too little time.
[...] "Anele," Linden whispered. "Tell me."
"Even here it is felt," the old man said as if he were answering her. "Written. Lamented." But the words were not a reply. Anele’s fixation on the lines of malachite within the obsidian was complete. He responded to the world’s oldest secrets, not to her. "The rousing of the Worm. It devours the magic of the Earth. The life. But its hunger is too great. When it has depleted lesser sustenance, it must come to the Land."
Lesser sustenance? He must have meant the Elohim. But Covenant could not be sure. His own memories were too fresh.
There is too much. Power and peril. Malevolence. Ruin. And too little time. The last days of the Land are counted.
On some level, however, he knew that Anele was right. The Worm was eating the magic out of the world. But it needed more than it could obtain from any Elohim - or from all of the Elohim.
By its very nature, the Worm would give Lord Foul what the Despiser had always craved.
Covenant did not know how Linden would be able to bear that responsibility.
"Heed him well," the Ardent advised in a hushed murmur. "This has been foreseen. It is knowledge which has been hidden since the rising of the first dawn within the Arch, shared by none but the Elohim. He must be heeded."
[...] "The Worm will come." Gradually Anele’s voice took on a ritual cadence, a sound of litany, as if he recited a sacral truth. "It must. Bringing with it the last crisis of the Earth, it will come. Here it will discover its final nourishment."
Become as trees, the roots of trees. Seek deep rock.
[...] "Here?" Linden asked, still whispering. Bereft or abandoned: Covenant could not tell the difference. "In the Lost Deep? In that chasm? What nourishment?"
Surely she knew that Anele did not hear her?
- the necessary forbidding of evils -
If the Earth had no hope, there was none for Jeremiah - or for any love.
"If it is not forbidden, it will have Earthpower," Anele said in tones of rock and woe. "If it is not opposed by the forgotten truths of stone and wood, orcrest and refusal, it will have life. The very blood of life from the most potent and private recesses of the Earth’s heart. When the Worm of the World’s End drinks the Blood of the Earth, its puissance will consume the Arch of Time."
"Anele!" Linden cried softly. "Are you sure? Anele? What forgotten truths?"
Beyond question the old man did not hear her. He said nothing further. He may have fallen asleep, exhausted by prophecy.
To Melenkurion Skyweir, Covenant thought dumbly. Of course. Not here. Not to the Lost Deep, or to any place within Mount Thunder. The Despiser had buried too much evil in these depths. The Worm needed Earthpower concentrated and pure, the world’s essential chrism.
As pure as orcrest. As pure as the wrath of Forestals, who had possessed the power to refuse -
"It is done," the Ardent announced with quiet satisfaction. "As it was foreseen, so it has transpired. And I alone among the Insequent bear witness. The Harrow himself has heard no single word. He cares naught for the joy of such epiphanies."
It remains an open question as to whether the forestals really spoke those words. After all, this is Covenant's memory ... in this case, tampered with by
turiya Raver. The past cannot be changed - the forestals had not said those things, had not seen Covenant.
Certainly one explanation is that these words, spoken by the forestals, originate from Covenant himself, in some sort of manifestation of his subconscious. The remnants of the Timewarden trying to remind him about something important.
It's seems, as Covenant heard these words in the Lost Deep, that he recollects hearing them before. Recently before. Because Anele had said them, back in Andelain? It appears that way. Perhaps that is what gave him the knowledge to repeat it to himself now, in the guise of his forestal memory.
But did Anele say these words originally? Did he glean the memories of the deep stone and make a pronouncement? He could not have been possessed, and speaking for another, as he was on deep stone. So this must be his own words. The knowledge came from they very stone itself.
The Argent had known those words were coming. He listened to them as if he had been waiting for them his whole life. According to him, they have existed since the dawn of time - literally.
Yet this stone remembers.
This can't get more significant.
But what can we work out from all of this?
It sounds like there will be some sort of forbidding built which shall defend the Blood of the Earth from the Worm. A forbidding built from wood and stone,
orcrest and refusal. That sounds like a job for Jeremiah if you ask me. Who else could build a forbidding out of wood and stone and
orcrest?
But "refusal"? Who can say how that will factor in?
Also, I have to wonder if they got it all wrong leaping to the conclusion that the Earthblood is in Earthroot.
Here it will discover its final nourishment. Here. In the Lost Deep. "It is here," said Anele. The abode of She Who Must Not be Named. Will the Worm feast on
her? Is she the ultimate source of the Blood of the Earth?
Certainly there's a lot of setup here. But not enough to see the final answer coming.
.
