The Runes of the Earth: The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant - Book One by Stephen R. Donaldson

walls were marked with tiny windows, clever ramparts, and delicate battlements, so lifelike in spite of the materials from which they had been formed that they might have been limned from memory. And at the tip of the wedge stood a sturdy watchtower, nearly half the height of the wedge itself, connected to the main castle by a walled, open courtyard. In the base of the tower, and again in the base of the high keep, he had built entrances like tunnels, guarded by gates that closed like teeth.
    â€œJeremiah,” Linden gasped involuntarily, “oh, Jeremiah,” while all her fears rebounded through her, and her heart labored in her throat as if she might choke.
    She had seen such shapes before. She recognized them, even though they had been constructed of bright plastic, all flat sides and right angles. The resemblance was too exact for confusion. The mountain was Mount Thunder, ancient Gravin Threndor, its bowels full of Wightwarrens and buried evil. And the castle was Revelstone beyond question, Lord’s Keep, delved from the gutrock of its mountain promontory by Giants millennia before she had known it during her time with Thomas Covenant.
    She had seen them, but Jeremiah had not: never in his life. He had not accompanied her to the Land after Covenant’s murder.
    Yet somehow he seemed to know such places—
    His knowledge alarmed her. During the years that she had been his mother, he had produced hundreds or thousands of constructs; but until now none of them had hinted at the Land in any way.
    â€œLinden?” Sandy asked anxiously. “What’s the matter? Is something wrong? I thought you would want to see—”
    Although Linden had gasped his name, Jeremiah did not look up at her or react to the sound of her voice. Instead he rocked himself gently, blankly, as he always did when he was not assembling one of his constructs—or tearing it down. He must be finished with this one. Otherwise he would have been difficult to deflect from working on it.
    Dear God! she thought in dismay and outrage. He’s threatening my son. Lord Foul meant harm to Jeremiah.
    Ignoring Sandy for the moment, she moved to kneel in front of Jeremiah. There she put her arms around him as if her mere embrace might ward him from the Despiser’s malice.
    Passively he accepted her hug without touching her, or turning his head, or focusing his eyes. She only knew that he noticed her on some level—that his nerves felt her presence if his mind did not—because he stopped rocking until she let him go.
    Although she had known him for ten years, and had been his adopted mother for eight, he still gave her only the subtlest of indications that he was aware of her existence.
    However, she had long ago accepted him as he was. Subtle indications were enough for her. She loved him intensely enough for both of them.
    â€œLinden?” Sandy repeated. “Have I done something wrong?”
    Linden closed her eyes, took a deep breath to steady herself. “I’m sorry,” she told Sandy. “I didn’t mean to scare you. There’s nothing wrong. You haven’t done anything. It’s just another of those feelings. When I saw all this”—she swallowed convulsively—“I panicked. I can’t explain it.”
    â€œI understand.” Sandy’s relief was evident. She loved Jeremiah: Linden did not doubt that. “Don’t worry about it.” Then she asked, “Is there anything I can do—?”
    Linden tried to put aside the shock of seeing Jeremiah’s construct, but it clung to her. Seeking reassurance, she opened her eyes and looked into his face.
    He gazed past or through her exactly as Joan did, blankly, without any shadow or flicker of cognizance. Yet the effect on Linden was entirely different. He was so much more active than Joan, demonstrated so much more capability, and was at times so much less compliant, that Linden often forgot this one