Well, here I bleed. But there is no pain. ‘As long as I can,’ he said, ‘you will have someone to speak to.’
The Redeemer looked away then, so that Seerdomin could not see his sudden tears.
‘He didn’t make it,’ Monkrat said, straightening.
Gradithan glowered down at Seerdomin’s corpse. ‘We were so close, too. I don’t understand what’s happened, I don’t understand at all.’
He turned slightly and studied the High Priestess where she knelt on the muddy floor of the tent. Her face was slack, black drool hanging from her mouth, ‘She used it up. Too soon, too fast, I think. All that wasted blood. .’
Monkrat cleared his throat. ‘The visions-’
‘Nothing now,’ Gradithan snapped. ‘Find some more kelyk.’
At that Salind’s head lifted, a sudden thirst burning in her eyes. Seeing this, Gradithan laughed. ‘Ah, see how she worships now. An end to all those doubts. One day, Monkrat, everyone will be like her. Saved.’
Monkrat seemed to hesitate.
Gradithan turned back and spat on to Seerdomin’s motionless, pallid visage. ‘Even you, Monkrat,’ he said. ‘Even you.’
‘Would you have me surrender my talents as a mage, Urdo?’
‘Not yet. But yes, one day, you will do that. Without regrets.’
Monkrat set off to find another cask of kelyk.
Gradithan walked over to Salind. He crouched in front of her, leaned forward to lick the drool from her lips. ‘We’ll dance together,’ he said. ‘Are you eager for that?’
He saw the answer in her eyes.
High atop the tower, in the moment that Silanah stirred — cold eyes fixed upon the pilgrim encampment beyond the veil of Night — Anomander Rake had reached out to still her with the lightest of touches.
‘Not this time, my love,’ he said in a murmur. ‘Soon. You will know.’
Slowly, the enormous dragon settled once more, eyes closing to the thinnest of slits.
The Son of Darkness let his hand remain, resting there on her cool, scaled neck. ‘Do not fear,’ he said, ‘I will not restrain you next time.’
He sensed the departure of Spinnock Durav, on a small fast cutter into the Ort shy;nal beyond Nightwater. Perhaps the journey would serve him well, a distance ever stretching between the warrior and what haunted him.
And he sensed, too, the approach of Endest Silann down along the banks of the river, his oldest friend, who had one more task ahead of him. A most difficult one.
But these were difficult times, he reflected.
Anomander Rake left Silanah then, beneath Darkness that never broke.
North and west of Bastion, Kallor walked an empty road.
He had found nothing worthwhile in Bastion. The pathetic remnant of one of Nightchill’s lovers, a reminder of curses voiced long ago, a reminder of how time twisted everything, like a rope binding into ever tighter knots and kinks. Until what should have been straight was now a tangled, useless mess.
Ahead awaited a throne, a new throne, one that he deserved. He believed it was taking shape, becoming something truly corporeal. Raw power, brimming with unfulfilled promise.
But the emergence of the throne was not the only thing awaiting him, and he sensed well that much at least. A convergence, yes, yet another of those confounded cusps, when powers drew together, when unforeseen paths suddenly intersected. When all of existence could change in a single moment, in the solitary cut of a sword, in a word spoken or a word left unspoken.
What would come?
He needed to be there. In its midst. Such things were what kept him going, af shy;ter all. Such things were what made life worth living.
I am the High King of Failures, am I not? Who else deserves the Broken Throne? Who else personifies the misery of the Crippled God? No, it will be mine, and as for all the rest, well, we’ll see, won’t we?
He walked on, alone once more. Satisfying, to be reminded — as he had been when travelling in the company of those pathetic Tiste Andii — that the world was crowded with idiots. Brainless, stumbling, clumsy with stupid certainties and convictions.
Perhaps, this time, he would dispense with empires. This time, yes, he would crush everything, until every wretched mortal scrabbled in the dirt, fighting over grubs and roots. Was that not the perfect realm for a broken throne?
Yes, and what better proof of my right to claim that throne? Kallor alone turns his back on civilization. Look on, Fallen One, and see me standing before you. Me and none other.
I vow to take it all down. Every brick. And the world can look on, awed, in wonder. The gods themselves will stare, dumbfounded, amazed, bereft and lost. Curse me to fall each and every time, will you? But I will make a place where no fall is possible. I will defeat that curse, finally defeat it.
Can you hear me, K’rull?
No matter. You will see what there is to see, soon enough.
These were, he decided, glorious times indeed.
BOOK THREE
Push it on to the next moment
Don’t think now, save it
For later when thinking will show
Its useless face
When it’s too late and worry is wasted
In the rush for cover
Push it past into that pocket
So that it relents its gnawing presence
And nothing is worth doing
In pointless grace
When all the valid suppositions
Smother your cries
Push it over into the deep hole
You don’t want to know
In case it breaks and makes you feel
Cruel reminders
When all you could have done is now past
No don’t bother
Push it well into the corner
It’s no use, so spare me the grief.
You didn’t like the cost so bright, so high
The bloodiest cut
When all you sought was sweet pleasure
To the end of your days
Push it on until it pushes back
Shout your shock, shout it
You never imagined you never knew what
Turning away would do
Now wail out your dread in waves of disbelief
It’s done it’s dead
Push your way to the front
Clawing the eyes of screaming kin
No legacy awaits your shining children
It’s killed, killed
Gone the future all to feed some holy glory
The world is over. Over.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We watched him approach from a league away
Staggering beneath the weight of all he held
In his arms
We thought he wore a crown but when he came near
The circlet was revealed as the skin of a serpent
Biting its tail
We laughed and shared the carafe when he fell
Cheering as he climbed back upright
In pleasing charm
We slowed into silence when he arrived
And saw for ourselves the burden he carried
Kept from harm
We held stern in the face of his relieved smile
And he said this fresh young world he had found
Was now ours
We looked on as if we were grand gods
Contemplating a host of undeserved gifts
Drawing knives
Bold with pride we cut free bloodied slices
And ate our fill
We saw him weep then when nothing was left
Backing away with eyes of pain and dismay