The Crippled God
‘We’ll be joining you soon enough, I suppose.’
‘No, you won’t. No memory will remain, nothing to draw you back.’
‘But I have strings, T’lan Imass. That’s my private curse. I will be pulled back together – or they’ll try, anyway. Over and over again.’
Nom Kala studied the man, and then shook her head. ‘I see no strings, mortal. If they once existed, now they are gone. Nothing holds you. Not the will of gods, not the lies of destiny or fate. You are severed from everything but that which lives within you.’
‘Truly? No wonder I feel so lonely.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That is the reason.’
‘But … you are not alone, are you, T’lan Imass?’
‘No, but that is no salvation. Together, we but share our loneliness.’
He snorted. ‘Not sure that makes sense, but I think I understand you anyway. Listen, do us a favour. Once the last of us has fallen, don’t fall to dust, don’t give up just yet. Walk out of this desert. Walk out of it . Please, will you do that?’
‘Because it is said that this desert cannot be crossed. Yes, I understand you, mortal.’
‘Will you do it?’
‘We shall.’
He settled back on his bedroll with an uneven sigh. ‘Good. Prove them wrong. It’s good enough, I think.’
Nom Kala hesitated, and then said, ‘Do not give up, soldier. One more march.’
Eyes closed, he asked, ‘What would be the point of that?’
‘Push your comrades on – through this next night. Do this, please. As I have agreed to do as you wish, I ask that you reciprocate.’
He opened his eyes, squinted at her. ‘Is it that important?’
‘Suffering is a chasm. But there is the other side, and upon that side waits the Fallen God. I am one of the Seven now. I am one among the Unbound. The Fallen One understands suffering, mortal. In that you are not alone. In that, neither are the T’lan Imass alone.’
‘Aye, I’ll grant you that he knows a thing or two about suffering. That you do, as well. I just don’t see the comfort in that kind of sharing.’
‘If not comfort, then find strength .’
‘To keep bearing that suffering? What for?’
Yes, Nom Kala, what for? Do you have an answer? Does anyone? ‘When you at last reach across that chasm, mortal, and grasp tight the hand of the Fallen One, ask him your question.’
He managed a sour smile. ‘Convenient.’ And he closed his eyes once more.
She continued on, troubled, heavy with anguish. The T’lan Imass have seen civilizations rise and fall. We have seen lands die, only to be reborn. We have seen the seas rise and we have walked ancient seabeds. We have witnessed life’s myriad struggles. From the lone creature suffering its last moments to thousands dying in a bleak season .
And what have we learned?
Only that life is its own purpose. And that, where there is life, there shall be suffering. Has it any meaning? Is existence reason enough?
I am an Unbound. I am free to see, and what is it that I see?
I see … nothing .
Ahead, at the vanguard of the column, there were figures. Standing. Now, I must find a worthy lie. And if my name is to be cursed in the last breaths of these humans, so be it. My crime was hope. My punishment is to see it fail .
But the T’lan Imass have weathered that punishment for a long time, and the failure of hope has a name: it is called suffering .
‘Words,’ said Badalle, meeting the Adjunct’s eyes. ‘I found power in words. But that power is gone. I have nothing left.’
Mother turned to her companions, but said nothing. There was almost no life left in her plain face, her plain eyes, and seeing that hurt Badalle somewhere inside. I had a poem for you. But it is gone. Dried up .
A man combed his beard with filthy fingers and said, ‘Child … if your strength returns – another day …’
‘It is not that kind of strength,’ Badalle replied. ‘It is gone, perhaps for ever. I do not know how to get it back. I think it has died.’ I am not your hope. I cannot be. It was meant to be the other way round, don’t you see that? We are children. That and nothing more . ‘The god that died here, it was the same.’
Mother frowned. ‘Can you explain that, Badalle?’
She shook her head.
The other man – the one with the haunted eyes – then spoke. ‘What can you tell us of that god, Badalle?’
‘He broke apart.’