Friends recoil. Acquaintances drift away. And the one who fell finds a solitary world, a place where no refuge could be found from loneliness when loneliness was the true reward of surviving for ever maimed, for ever weakened. Yet who would not choose that fate, when the alternative was pity?
Of course, pity was a virtually extinct sentiment among the Tiste Andii, and this Endest Silann saw as a rare blessing among his kind. He could not have suffered such regard for very long. As for the torment of his memories, well, it was truly extraordinary how long one could weather that assault. Yet he knew he was not unique in this matter — it was the burden of his entire people, after all. Sufficient to mitigate his loneliness? Perhaps.
Darkness had been silent for so long now, his dreams of hearing the whisper of his realm — of his birthplace — were less than ashes. It was no wonder, then, was it, that he now sat in the gloom of his chamber, sheathed in sweat, each trickle seeming to drink all warmth from his flesh. Yes, they had manifested Kurald Galain here in this city, an act of collective will. Yet it was a faceless power — Mother Dark had left them, and no amount of desire on their part could change that.
So, then, what is this?
Who speaks with such power?
Not a whisper but a shout, a cry that bristled with. . what? With affront. Indignation. Outrage. Who is this?
He knew that he was not alone in sensing this assault — others must be feeling it, throughout Black Coral. Every Tiste Andii probably sat or stood motionless at this moment, heart pounding, eyes wide with fear and wonder. And, perhaps, hope.
Could it be?
He thought to visit the temple, to hear from the High Priestess herself. . something, a pronouncement, a recognition proclaimed. Instead, he found himself staggering out of his room, hurrying up the corridor, and then ascending the stairs, round and round as if caught in a swirling fever. Out into his Lord’s south-facing demesne — stumbling in to find Anomander Rake seated in his high-backed chair, facing the elongated window and, far below, crashing seas painted black and silver as deep, unknown currents thrashed.
‘My Lord,’ Endest gasped.
‘Did I have a choice?’ Anomander Rake asked, gaze still on the distant tumult.
‘My lord?’
Kharkanas. Did you agree with her. . assessment? Endest Silann? Did I not see true what was to come? Before Light’s arrival, we were in a civil war. Vulnerable to the forces soon to be born. Without the blood of Tiamatha, I could never have enforced. . peace. Unification.’
‘Sire,’ said Endest Silann, then found he could not go on.
Rake seemed to understand, for he sighed and said, ‘Yes, a most dubious peace. For so many, the peace of death. As for unification, well, that proved woefully short-lived, did it not? Still, I wonder, if I had succeeded — truly succeeded — would that have changed her mind?’
‘My Lord — something is happening.’
‘Yes.’
‘What must we do?’
‘Ah, my friend, you are right to ask that. Never mind the High Priestess and her answer — always the same one with her, yes? Who cries the war cry of Kurald Galain? Let us seek the answer between her legs. Even that can grow tiresome, eventually. Although do not repeat my words to Spinnock Durav — I would not disaffect his occasional pleasure.’
Endest Silann wanted to shriek, wanted to lunge against his Lord, grasp him by the neck, and force out — force out what? He did not know. The Son of Darkness was, to his mind, the smartest creature — mortal, immortal, it mattered not — that he had ever met. His thoughts travelled a thousand tracks simultaneously, and no conversation with him could be predicted, no path deemed certain.
‘I cannot give answer this time,’ Anomander Rake then said. ‘Nor, I am afraid, can Spinnock. He will be needed. . elsewhere.’ And now his head turned, and his eyes fixed upon Endest Silann. ‘It must fall to you, again. Once more.’
Endest felt his soul recoil in horror, shrink back into whatever cave it had clawed out for itself somewhere down in the mined-out pit of his heart. ‘Sire, I cannot.’
Anomander seemed to consider that for a time, ten thousand tracks danced across, on to something new that triggered faint surprise on his features. And he smiled. ‘I understand. I will not ask again, then.’
‘Then. . then what — who? Sire — I do not-’
The wryness of Anomander Rake’s tone jarred terribly with his words, ‘Reborn into fury, oh, would that I could see that.’ Then his voice grew sober. ‘You were right — you cannot stand in my stead. Do not intercede in any way, Endest Silann. Do not set yourself between two forces, neither of which you can withstand. You may well feel the need, but defy it with all your will. You must not be lost.’
‘Sire, I do not understand.’
But Anomander Rake raised one hand.
And yes, the emanation was gone. Darkness was silent once more. Whatever had come into their world had vanished.
Endest found he was trembling. ‘Will — will it return, my Lord?’
The Son of Darkness studied him with strangely veiled eyes, then rose and walked over to the window. ‘Look, the seas grow calm once more. A most worthy lesson, I think. Nothing lasts for ever. Not violence, not peace, Not sorrow, old friend, nor rage. Look well upon this black sea, Endest Silann, in the nights ahead. To calm your fears. To offer you guidance.’
And, just like that, he knew he was dismissed.
Bemused, frightened of a future he knew he was not intelligent enough to yet comprehend, he bowed, then departed. Corridors and stairs, and not so much at an echo remained. He recalled an old prayer, the one whispered before battle.
Let Darkness receive my every breath
With her own.
Let our lives speak in answer unto death
Never alone.
But now, at this moment, he had never felt more alone. The warriors no longer voiced that prayer, he well knew. Darkness did not wait to receive a breath, nor the last breath that bridged life and death. A Tiste Andii warrior fought in silence, and when he or she fell, they fell alone. More profoundly alone than anyone who was not Tiste Andii could comprehend.
A new vision entered his head then, jarring him, halting him halfway down the stairs. The High Priestess, back arching, crying out in ecstasy — or despera shy;tion, was there truly a difference?
Her search. Her answer that was no answer at all.
Yes, she speaks for us, does she not?
‘He is troubled,’ Salind murmured, only now shaking off the violent cold that had gripped her. ‘The Redeemer stirred awake then, for some reason unknown and, to us, unknowable. But I felt him. He is most troubled. .’
The half-dozen pilgrims gathered round the fire all nodded, although none possessed her percipience in these matters, too bound up still in the confused obstinacy of mortality’s incessant demands, and, of course, there was the dread, now, the one that had stalked them every moment since the Benighted’s abandonment, an abandonment they saw as a turning away, which was deemed just, because none there had proved worthy of Seerdomin and the protection he offered. Yes, he was right in denying them. They had all failed him. In some way as yet undetermined.
Salind understood all these notions, and even, to some extent — this alone surprising given her few years — comprehended the nature of self-abnegation that could give rise to them. People in great need were quick to find blame in themselves, quick to assume the burden of guilt for things they in truth had no control over and could not hope to change. It was, she had begun to understand, integral to the very nature of belief, of faith. A need that could not be answered by the self was then given over to someone or something greater than oneself, and this form of surrender was a lifting of a vast, terrible weight.