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kind for me. Being in two places at once breaks a lot of rules.” This time, his smile resembled a grimace. “If you touch either one of us—or if you use that Staff—you’ll undo the fold. Time will snap back into shape.
    â€œIt’s like your son says,” he finished. “We’ll disappear. I’m not strong enough to keep us here.”
    â€œYour son?” Liand breathed. “Linden, is this your son ?”
    â€œLiand, no,” Mahrtiir instructed at once. “Do not speak. This lies beyond us. The Ringthane will meet our questions when greater matters have been resolved.”
    Linden did not so much as glance at them. But she could no longer look at Covenant. The torchlight in his eyes, and his unwonted smiles, daunted her. She understood nothing. She wanted to scoff at the idea of folding time. Or perhaps she merely yearned to reject the thought that she might undo such theurgy. How could she bear to be in his presence, and in Jeremiah’s, without touching them?
    As if she were turning her back, she shifted so that she faced only her son.
    â€œJeremiah, honey—” she began. Oh, Jeremiah! Her eyes burned, although she had no tears. “None of this makes sense. Is he telling the truth?”
    Had her son been restored to her for this ? And was he truly still in Lord Foul’s grasp, suffering the Despiser’s wealth of torments in some other dimension or manifestation of time?
    She was unable to see the truth for herself. Covenant and her son were closed to her, as they were to Stave and the Masters.
    An Elohim had warned the Ramen as well as Liand’s people to Beware the halfhand .
    Jeremiah gazed at her with a frown. He seemed to require a visible effort to set aside his excitement. “You know he is, Mom.” His tone held an unexpected edge of reproach; of impatience with her confusion and yearning. “He’s Thomas Covenant . You can see that. He’s already saved the Land twice. He can’t be anybody else.”
    But then he appeared to take pity on her. Ducking his head, he added softly, “What you can’t see is how much it hurts that I’m not just here.”
    For years, she had hungered for the sound of her son’s voice; starved for it as though it were the nurturance that would give her life meaning. Yet now every word from his mouth only multiplied her chagrin.
    Why could she not weep? She had always shed tears too easily. Surely her sorrow and bafflement were great enough for sobbing? Still her eyes remained dry; arid as a wilderland.
    â€œAll you have to do is trust me,” Covenant put in. “Or if you can’t do that, trust him .” He nodded toward Jeremiah. “We can do this. We can make it come out right. That’s another advantage I have. We have. We know what needs to be done.”
    Angry because she had no other outlet, Linden wheeled back to confront the Unbeliever. “Is that a fact?” Her tone was acid. She had come to this: her beloved and her son were restored to her, and she treated them like foes. “Then tell me something. Why did the Demondim let you live? Hell, why have they left any of us alive? It was just yesterday that they wanted to kill us.”
    Jeremiah laughed as if he were remembering one of the many jokes that she had told him over the years; jokes with which she had attempted to provoke a reaction when he was incapable of any response. The muscle at the corner of his left eye continued its tiny beat. But Covenant glared at her, and the fires in his gaze seemed hotter than any of the torches.
    â€œAnother trick,” he told her sourly. “An illusion.” He made a dismissive gesture with his halfhand. “Oh, I didn’t have anything to do with what happened yesterday.” Despite its size, the forehall seemed full of halfhands , the Humbled as well as Covenant and Jeremiah. “That’s a different issue. But they let Jeremiah