Toll the Hounds

‘I cannot. I will not. Yes, they would accept that notion. Reciprocity. But I will not. What I gave I gave freely, a gift, not an exchange. Oh, they forced one upon me, at the end, but it was modest enough-or I was weak enough then not to re-sist it.’



‘If you will not accept service,’ Speerdomin then said, ‘why do you seek it from me?’



‘You are free to choose,’ the Redeemer replied. ‘Defend me, or step aside and see me fall.’



‘That’s hardly a choice!’



‘True. Such things rarely are. I would send you back, but your body no longer functions. It lies on a heap of rubbish behind the pilgrim camp. Scavengers have fed, for your flesh is not poisoned as is that of the others thus disposed.’



Seerdomin grimaced, fixing eyes once more upon the High Priestess dancing on the plain. ‘Thank you for the grisly details. If I stand aside-if I watch you die-then what will happen to me? To my spirit?’



‘I do not know. If I am able, I will grieve for you then, as much as I do for the souls of all those I now hold within me.’



Seerdomin slowly turned and studied the god. ‘If she takes you-all those T’lan Imass-’



‘Will be helpless. They will succumb. All who are within me will succumb.’



‘So much for standing aside.’



‘Seerdomin. Segda Travos, you are not responsible for their fate. I am. This er-ror is mine. I will not judge you harshly should you choose to yield.’



‘Error. What error?’



‘I am… defenceless. You sensed that from the very beginning-when you came to the barrow and there knelt, honouring me with your companionship. I possess no provision for judgement. My embrace is refused no one.’



‘Then change that, damn you!’



‘I am trying.’



Seerdomin glared at the god, who now offered a faint smile. After a moment, Seerdomin hissed and stepped back. ‘You ask this of me? Are you mad? I am not one of your pilgrims! Not one of your mob of would-be priests and priestesses! I do not worship you!’



‘Precisely, Segda Travos. It is the curse of believers that they seek to second-guess the one they claim to worship.’



‘In your silence what choice do they have?’



The Redeemer’s smile broadened. ‘Every choice in the world, my friend.’



Countless paths, a single place sought by all. If she could be bothered, she could think on the innumerable generations-all that rose to stand with thoughts reach-ing into the night sky, or plunging into the mesmerizing flames of the campfire-the hunger did not change. The soul lunged, the soul crawled, the soul scraped and dragged and pitched headlong, and in the place it desired- needed- there was this: the bliss of certainty.



Conviction like armour, eyes shining like swords; oh, the bright glory that was the end to every question, every doubt. Shadows vanished, the world raged sudden white and black. Evil dripped with slime and the virtuous stood tall as giants. Compassion could be partitioned, meted out only to the truly deserving-the innocent and the blessed. As lor all the rest, they could burn, for they deserved no less.



She danced like truth unleashed. The beauty of simplicity flowed pure and sweet through her limbs, rode the ebb and sweep of her sighing breath. All those agonizing uncertainties were gone, every doubt obliterated by the gift of saemenkelyk.



She had found the shape of the world, every edge clear and sharp and undeniable. Her thoughts could dance through it almost effortlessly, evading snags and tears, not once touching raw surfaces that might scrape, that might make her flinch.



The bliss of certainty delivered another gift. She saw before her a universe transformed, one where contradictions could be rightfully ignored, where hypocrisy did not exist, where to serve the truth in oneself permitted easy denial of any-thing that did not fit.



The minuscule mote of awareness that hid within her, like a snail flinching into its shell, was able to give shape to this transformation, well recognizing it as gen-uine revelation, the thing she had been seeking all along-yet in the wrong place.



Salind understood now that the Redeemer was a child god, innocent, yes, but not in a good way. The Redeemer possessed no certainty in himself. He was not all-seeing, but blind. From a distance the two might appear identical, there in that wide embrace, the waiting arms, the undefended openness. He forgave all because he could not see difference, could not even sense who was deserving and who was not.



Saemenkelyk brought an end to ambiguity. It divided the world cleanly, ab-solutely.



She must give that to him. It would be her gift-the greatest gift imaginable-to her beloved god. An end to his ambivalence, his ignorance, his helplessness.