The Crippled God

  Tulas straightened, tilted his head. ‘You refuse me my proper title.’

  ‘I see no throne, Tulas Shorn. Was “prince” not honorific enough? Would you prefer pretender?’

  ‘If I was not bound still – and eternally so, I fear – to this state of undeath, Silchas Ruin, I might take offence at your words.’

  ‘If you wish, we could still cross blades, you sperm-clouded abomination of darkness.’

  Tulas considered the proposition. ‘You are returned to this world, Silchas, leading me to the inescapable conclusion that the Azath do indeed know how to shit.’

  ‘Tulas,’ said Silchas Ruin as he strode closer, ‘do you remember the night of the whores?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You are such a rotted mess now, I doubt a kingdom’s wealth could buy you their favour.’

  ‘As I recall, they blindfolded themselves before lying with you – what did they squeal? Oh yes. “He has the eyes of a white rat!” Or words to that effect.’

  They faced one another.

  ‘Tulas, would a smile crack what’s left of your face?’

  ‘Probably, old friend, but know that I am smiling – in my heart.’

  Their embrace was savage with memories thought for ever lost, a friendship they’d thought long dead.

  ‘Against this,’ Silchas whispered, ‘not even Hood can stand. My friend.’

  After a time, they drew apart.

  ‘Do not weep for me,’ said Tulas Shorn.

  Silchas made a careless gesture. ‘Unexpected joy. But … too bad about the war.’

  ‘The war in which we did our level best to kill each other? Yes, those were bad times. We were each caught in whirlpools, friend, too vast and powerful for us to escape.’

  ‘The day Emurlahn shattered, so too did my heart. For you, Tulas. For … everything we then lost.’

  ‘Do you know, I do not even remember my own death? For all I know, it could well have been by your hand.’

  Silchas Ruin shook his head. ‘It was not. You were lost in the shattering – so even I do not know what happened to you. I … I searched, for a time.’

  ‘As I would have done for you.’

  ‘But then Scara—’

  ‘Curse of the Eleint.’

  Silchas nodded. ‘Too easily embraced.’

  ‘But not you. Not me.’

  ‘It pleases me to hear you say that. Starvald Demelain—’

  ‘I know. The Storm will be a siren call.’

  ‘Together, we can resist it.’

  ‘This smile upon my soul, it grows. At last, my heart’s dream – we shall fight side by side, Silchas Ruin.’

  ‘And the first to fall …’

  ‘The other shall guard.’

  ‘Tulas.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He saw my grief. He joined with me in my search.’

  Tulas Shorn looked away, said nothing.

  ‘Tulas, Anomander—’

  ‘No, friend. Not yet – I – I am not yet ready to think of him. I am sorry.’

  Silchas Ruin’s breath was ragged. He lifted a hand to his face, looked away, and then nodded. ‘As you wish.’ He laughed harshly. ‘It matters not, anyway. Not any more. He is dead.’

  ‘I know that,’ Tulas said, reaching out to grasp Silchas’s right shoulder. ‘And more than ever, it matters. If we do not speak of your loss – for a time – it does not mean I feel nothing of your grief. Understand me, please.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Tulas eyed the Tiste Andii. ‘Curse of the Eleint,’ he said.

  But his friend flinched. Neither spoke for a time. The Hust sword at Silchas’s belt was muttering in its scabbard. Then Silchas looked up. ‘Oh, there is one other thing – a spawn of Menandore—’

  ‘An enemy?’

  ‘He was born this side of Starvald Demelain.’

  ‘Ah, then a potential ally. Three … a good number. Does this child command the power inside him, does he rule the rage within?’

  ‘If he did, he would be here with us now.’

  ‘I see. Then what shall be his fate?’

  ‘I have not yet decided.’

  They began walking north. The tundra stretched out on all sides. Small birds flitted among the low growth, and spinning clouds of midges lifted from the path they took. In the vast distance stretched a gleaming white line, marking the edge of the ice fields.

  ‘I sense the hand of Elder Gods in all this,’ Tulas Shorn said after a time.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do they want?’

  ‘What they always want. A return to power.’

  ‘In the time of my deathlessness, Silchas, I came to understand the truth of that old saying: you cannot go back.’

  ‘They know it, but it won’t stop them from trying. And in trying, they may well destroy this world and countless others. They may well kill K’rul himself.’

  ‘A bold gamble, then.’

  Silchas nodded. ‘The boldest.’

  ‘Sechul Lath, then?’

  ‘And Errastas, yes.’

  ‘So, Sechul Lath casts the die, and Errastas nudges the last tip – the game is rigged, friend.’

  ‘Just the way they like it, yes.’

  ‘Will you still play?’

  Silchas looked thoughtful, and then he sighed. ‘They consider themselves masters at cheating. But then, I think this will be the first time that they sit at a table with mortal humans facing them. Cheating? When it comes to that, the Elder Gods are as children compared to humans. Since the time of my return, this much at least I have learned.’

  ‘The game is in danger of being turned?’

  Silchas glanced across at him, and grinned. ‘I think … yes: just watch, Tulas. Just watch.’

  In the scabbard, the sword gurgled. Laughter or, Tulas mused, choking.

  ‘My friend, how did you come by that weapon?’

  ‘A gift.’

  ‘From whom? Are they mad?’

  ‘Shadow.’

  Tulas found he had nothing to say. Struck speechless, as the fire tellers used to say. Grimacing, he struggled, desperate to voice a warning – anything.

  Silchas glanced over. ‘Not Edgewalker, Tulas.’

  Edge— No, it cannot be – he could not have – oh, wonders of the Abyss! His voice cracked when at last he managed to speak. ‘I forgive him.’

  Silchas frowned across at him. ‘Who?’

  ‘Your brother,’ Tulas replied in a broken rasp. ‘I forgive him – for all of it – for my anger, now proved so … so misplaced. Gods below, Silchas! He spoke true! But – how? How did he manage it?’

  Silchas was still frowning. ‘I don’t understand, Tulas. How did he manage what?’

  Tulas stared at Silchas Ruin. A moment’s disbelief, but then he shook his head. He said nothing, then, not even to his beloved brother. He was true to his word. He held the secret close and not once yielded a single word, not a single hint – else it would be known by now. It would be known!

  ‘Tulas?’

  ‘I forgive him, Silchas.’

  ‘I – I am so pleased. I am … humbled, friend. You see, that day, I remain convinced that it was not as it seemed—’

  ‘Oh, indeed, it was not.’

  ‘Can you explain, then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Tulas?’

  They had halted. The sun was low on the horizon, painting the northern ice lurid shades of crimson. The midges whined in agitated clouds.

  Tulas sighed. ‘To tell you, my friend, would be to betray his last secret. I forgive him, yes, but I already fear that he would not forgive me, if he could. For my words. My rage. My stupidity. If I now yield his last secret, all hope for me is lost. I beg you to understand.’

  Silchas Ruin’s smile was tight. ‘My brother had a secret he kept even from me?’

  ‘From everyone.’

  ‘Everyone but you.’

  ‘It was to me that he vowed to say nothing, ever.’

  The Tiste An
dii’s eyes narrowed. ‘A secret as dangerous as that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Silchas grunted, but it was a despairing sound. ‘Oh, my friend. Does it not occur to you that, with a secret as deadly as you seem to suggest, my brother would do all he needed to to prevent its revelation?’

  ‘Yes, that has occurred to me.’

  ‘Including killing you.’

  Tulas nodded. ‘Yes. You may have explained my demise. Your brother murdered me.’ And to complete the deception, he helped his brother look for me.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Still, Silchas, I forgive him. Between your brother and me, after all, I had clearly announced myself the unreliable one. I know it is difficult for you to accept that he would keep this from you—’

  Silchas barked a laugh. ‘Dawn’s fire, Tulas, you are out of practice. I was being ironic. My brother kept things from me? Hardly a revelation to crush me underfoot. Anomander had many lessons to give me about pride, and, finally, a few of them have stuck.’

  ‘The world is vast yet—’

  ‘—truths are rare. Just so.’

  ‘And,’ Tulas added, ‘as the whores whispered about you, a man of giant aspirations but tiny capacities.’

  ‘Tell me, Prince Puke of the Eleint, shall I introduce you to this Hust blade?’

  ‘Best save that line for the next whore you meet, Silchas.’

  ‘Ha! I will!’

  ‘Prince Silchas of the Laughing Cock. Could be a while before we find a—’

  ‘Wrong, friend. We go to meet the biggest whore of them all.’

  Tulas felt dried skin rip open as he laid bare his teeth. ‘T’iam. Oh, she won’t like that title, not one bit.’

  ‘Mother’s sake, Tulas. Irony!’

  ‘Ah,’ he nodded after a moment. ‘Yes. After all, if she’s a whore, then that makes all of us Soletaken—’

  ‘Makes us all whorespawn!’

  ‘And this amuses you?’

  ‘It does. Besides, I can think of no better line with which to greet her.’

  ‘Silchas, a lone Hust blade? Now you are too bold. An entire legion went out to do battle with her, and did not return.’

  ‘Yes they died, Tulas, but they did not fail.’

  ‘You said, a gift from Shadow?’

  ‘Yes. But not Edgewalker.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘He is pompous in his title. A new god. Shadowthrone.’

  Shadowthrone. Ahh, not as pompous as you might think. ‘Do not underestimate him, friend.’

  ‘You warn me against someone you have never met?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘What gives you cause to do so?’

  Tulas pointed down at the scabbarded sword. ‘That.’

  ‘I will admit to some unease, friend.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Shall I show you the dragon-patterned welding?’

  Oh dear.

  Father?

  The scene was murky, stained like an old painting, yet the figure looked up from the chair he was slumped in. Tired eyes squinted in the gloom. ‘If this is a dream, Rud … you look well, and that is good enough for me.’

  Where are you?

  Udinaas grimaced. ‘She’s a stubborn one, as bad as me. Well, not quite.’

  The home of Seren Pedac. Then … Silchas judged rightly. You went to her. For help.

  ‘Desperation, Rud. Seems to be driving my life these days. And you, are you well?’

  My power grows, Father. Blood of the Eleint. It scares me. But I can reach you now. You are not dreaming. I am unharmed.

  Udinaas rubbed at his face, and he looked old to Ryadd’s eyes, a realization that triggered a pang deep inside. His father then nodded. ‘The Imass are in hiding, north of the city. A forest abandoned by the Teblor. It is perilous, but there’s no choice. I comfort myself with the thought of these ancient people, ancestors of us all, perhaps, crouching unseen in the midst of humanity. If this is possible, then so are many other unlikely possibilities, and perhaps the world is not as empty as we think we have made it.’

  Father, Kilava sent you away because she will not resist the sundering of the gate.

  Udinaas looked away. ‘I suspected something like that.’

  She’s already given up—

  ‘Rud, I think it was her desire all along. In fact, I do not think Kettle’s mortal wounding came from the other side of Starvald Demelain. The Azath was young, yes, but strong. And with the Finnest of Scabandari, well – do you remember our confidence? But then, suddenly, something changed …’

  Ryadd thought about that, and felt a surge of anger building within him. That was wrong, he said.

  ‘She pushed the Imass back into the world of the living—’

  That was a living world!

  ‘It was a dream, doomed to go round and round and never change. In the eyes of nature, it was an abomination. But listen, Rud’ – and he leaned forward – ‘Onrack loves her still. Do nothing rash. Leave her be.’

  And if you all die? If the Imass are discovered and then hunted down?

  ‘Trust in Seren Pedac. She will find a place for us. Rud – stay away from the dragons. When they come – stay as far away from them as you can.’

  Silchas so warned me, Father.

  ‘Is he with you?’

  No.

  Udinaas nodded. ‘I’m not very free with my trust, but he did as he promised. I will give him that. Still, I’m glad he’s gone.’

  Father, Seren Pedac must protect her child – he’s in great danger. Offer her the protection of the Imass.

  Udinaas lifted his brows. ‘That just might work. Good thinking, there.’

  Not me, Father. Silchas Ruin.

  ‘You begin to fade from my eyes, Rud—’

  I grow weary.

  ‘Be safe. I lo—’

  And then he was gone. Ryadd blinked his eyes clear, stared round at the grim cave walls. ‘A place to hide,’ he whispered. It’s all we ask. It’s what we all would ask, had we the voice. Just leave us alone.

  ‘She means to kill us,’ Stavi said, with eyes that did not belong to a young girl. ‘Me and Storii. She only wants Absi.’

  The dusk was drawing its shroud. Torrent had found some bhederin dung, years old, and they huddled around the flickering flames. He watched the strange flashes of colour coming from the crystal shard Absi was playing with.

  ‘She won’t,’ he assured the twins. ‘She means to use you to bend your father to her will.’

  ‘She only needs Absi for that,’ said Storii. ‘She’ll kill one of us first, to get his attention. And then the other, to leave him with only his son. And then our father will kneel before her. He will surrender.’

  ‘You’re thinking too much – both of you. We’re still a long way from anything happening.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Stavi said. ‘It’s much closer than you think, Torrent.’

  To that he had nothing to say. Even my lies fail me. He threw another chip on to the fire. ‘Wrap up now, in each other’s arms – Absi, go to your sisters. This night will be a cold one.’

  ‘She took us north.’

  ‘Yes, Stavi.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know – we couldn’t cross that desert.’ He looked around. ‘This might be a Hold, for all I know. I do not recognize the stars – and those jade spears are gone.’

  ‘A warren,’ said Storii, with some impatience. ‘We already knew that. But still she took us north.’

  ‘Go to sleep, all of you.’

  When the three children settled down, Torrent threw the one fur skin they possessed over them, and then rose to stretch his legs and back. Glancing over at the witch, huddled fifteen paces away, he was reminded of a corpse he’d once found – one of the old women of the village, who’d walked out in the winter cold to find a place to die in solitude. A few of the old ones still did such things, though for most the custom had faded. A withered creature, rising from the spring thaw’s deep snows, kneeling in the
fold of a hillside.

  Maybe it wasn’t a bad way to die. Alone, freezing until all feeling went away, and then sleep, offering one last, warm sigh. The winds had torn her up, he recalled, and ice shards had broken through her skin from the inside, and the crows had found her eyes, lips and ears. And what was left …

  Olar Ethil lifted her head, regarded him across the distance.

  Torrent turned away.

  ‘Do not wander too far,’ she warned behind him. ‘In this warren, it is easy to get lost – and I will not go looking for you.’

  Because we’re almost there, aren’t we?

  ‘If you choose to run away, pup, do not think I will take you back.’

  He set out, with no intention of going too far. Don’t leave us, they begged. I won’t. Promise. Ten paces on, he glanced back. ‘Spirits below!’ The camp had vanished – now, nothing but flat tundra, stretching away into the darkness.

  Then he caught a glimmer – the fire. I was just looking in the wrong direction. Torrent ran towards it. Halfway there he slowed, and then halted. Too far away – I never walked this far. I barely walked at all!

  But he could see a figure seated before the feeble flames. Shivering, Torrent slowly approached. Olar Ethil? Is that you? No.

  Not unless you’ve been hiding that red waistcoat.

  The man was reaching into one voluminous sleeve, drawing forth silver wine cups, a large decanter, and then a host of candied fruit and baked desserts.

  I am dreaming. All of this. I am sleeping close to the children right now, and my moans are heard by none but the hag.

  The man looked up. His face was round, softened by years of indolence. A city dweller’s face. He gestured with a plump hand. ‘Quickly, Kruppe gestures – see? There is little time. Come. Sit. Before Kruppe awakens to a miserable and fraught dawn in his beleaguered city. You are the keeper of my daughters?’

  ‘What? I—’

  ‘Kruppe would be there, if he could. Pah! It is ever our excuse, and paltry and pathetic it is. But then, Kruppe is famous for his energetic seed – why, it has been known to swim a league upriver to impregnate a baron’s pretty daughter not three months before her scandalous marriage. Well, the marriage proved scandalous six months later, anyway, and how that husband was castigated and, indeed, disowned! Now, if he’d been as adventurous as she would have liked, why, Kruppe’s seed would have come to the door only to find it barred, yes? So, the husband got all that he deserved, or so Judge Kruppe pronounces.’