The Crippled God
Tavore’s sigh was ragged. ‘It will be answered.’
He saw her take on the burden, in the settling of her shoulders, recognized the breathtaking courage in the way she lifted her head, the way she refused to look away from the scene – of two children, trying to remember what it is to play. Adjunct – do not do this. You cannot carry anything more —
Hearing someone behind them, they both turned.
A T’lan Imass. Ruthan Gudd grunted. ‘One of our deserters.’
‘Nom Kala,’ the apparition replied. ‘Now in the service of the Fallen One, Elder.’
‘What do you wish to tell me?’ Tavore asked.
‘Adjunct. You must march for another night – you cannot stop here. You cannot give up. One more night.’
‘I intend to march for as many nights as we can, Nom Kala.’
She was silent, as if nonplussed.
Ruthan Gudd cleared his throat. ‘You don’t want us to give up – we understand that, Nom Kala. We are the Fallen One’s last hope.’
‘Your soldiers fail.’
‘They’re not interested in worshipping the Crippled God,’ he said. ‘They don’t want to give their lives to a cause they don’t understand. This confusion and reluctance weakens their spirit.’
‘Yes, Elder. Thus, there must be one more night of marching.’
‘And then?’ the Adjunct demanded. ‘What salvation will find us by tomorrow’s dawn?’
‘The Seven of the Dying Fires shall endeavour to awaken Tellann,’ Nom Kala replied. ‘We have begun our preparations for a Ritual of Opening. Once we have created a gate we shall travel through, to a place where there is fresh water. We shall fill the casks once more and return to you. But we need another day.’
‘There are but seven of you,’ Ruthan said. ‘In this desert, that is not enough.’
‘We shall succeed in this, Elder.’
Ruthan cocked his head. ‘If you say so.’
‘I do. Now, please inform your soldiers. One more march.’
‘To reach salvation,’ said the Adjunct.
‘Yes.’
‘Very well, Nom Kala.’
The T’lan Imass bowed to them both, turned and then strode back into the camp.
When she was gone, the Adjunct sighed. ‘In your obviously long life, Captain, did you ever throw dice with a T’lan Imass?’
‘No, and I used to think that wisdom on my part.’
‘And now?’
Ruthan Gudd shook his head. ‘They are terrible liars.’
‘Still,’ she said under her breath, ‘I appreciate the effort.’
‘We don’t need it, Adjunct. To keep us all going – we don’t need it.’
‘We don’t?’
‘No.’ And he pointed to Badalle and Saddic. ‘I will go among the troops this day, Adjunct, for I have a story to tell. Two children, a sack of toys.’
She eyed him. ‘These children?’
He nodded. ‘These children.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Down on the strand where the sea meets the land
Where fishermen kneel over wounds that won’t heal
And the water weeps at the end of the day
In the mirror you walk away
Among the red trees and the long dead leaves
The axeman wanders but cannot remember
And the earth runs like tears and will not stay
In the mirror you walk away
In the silent season high on the hill’s bastion
In the burning rain and the soul’s dark stain
Where the children lie where they lay
In the mirror you walk away
Along the furrows of his heels a long shadow steals
Down from the altar pulled all the destinies fulfilled
Tell the tale another god has had his day
And in the mirror you walk away
When on the grey fields the troubles fall still
Another soldier’s cause dies for what never was
Drifting past the dreams now gone astray
In the mirror you walk away
Soiled the sacrament and broken the monument
Sullied the sculpture and soured the rapture
Beauty lives but brief its stay
And in the mirror you walk away
Gods will give and then take away
If faith tastes of blood
drink deep when you pray
Beauty lives but brief its stay
And when it all goes away
and there’s nothing left to save
In the mirror you walk away
In the mirror you walk away
Song of the Last Prayer (in the age of adjudication) Sevul of Kolanse