The Crippled God (43 page)

Yedan Derryg was taking bites from a lump of cheese, his jaws working steadily as he studied the cascading light. He glanced over as Withal approached, but only briefly. Boots crunching on the ghastly white bone fragments of the beach, and then the slope of the midden, where amidst larger pieces of bone there were husks of some forest nut, more recent gourds and pieces of pottery, Withal reached the prince’s side, whereupon he sat down. ‘I didn’t know we had any cheese left.’

Yedan plopped the last bit into his mouth, chewed a moment, swallowed and then said, ‘We don’t.’

Withal rubbed at his face. ‘I expect to feel the salt, the freshened sea breezes. Instead, the air feels as close as the hold of a ship.’ He nodded to Lightfall. ‘There is no breath from this, none at all.’

Yedan grunted. ‘There will be soon enough.’

‘The queen was wondering about that.’

‘Wondering?’

‘All right. Fretting. Well, more like a cornered cat, come to think of it, so not fretting at all. Snarling, all claws out, fear blazing in her eyes.’

Yedan’s jaws bunched, as if he was still chewing cheese, and then he said, ‘Is that what you wake up to every morning, Withal?’

He sighed, squinted at Lightfall. ‘Never been married, have you? I can tell.’

‘Not much interested.’

‘In any of that?’

‘In women.’

‘Ah. Well, among the Meckros, men marry each other all the time.
I figure they see how men and women do it, and want that for themselves.’

‘Want what, exactly?’

‘Someone to be the cat, someone to be the dog, I suppose. But all official like.’

‘And here I thought you’d go on about love and commitment, Withal.’

‘No, it’s all down to who lifts a leg and who squats. And if you’re lucky, that goes back and forth. If you’re unlucky, you end up trapped in one or the other and life’s miserable.’

‘Your winning description of marriage, Withal, has fallen somewhat short for me.’

‘Sorry to hear that, Yedan.’

‘Something to do, I suspect, with the lack of sincerity.’

Withal grinned. ‘Anyway, the queen is eager for reassurance. Do you feel ready? And how … how soon?’

‘There is no true measure of readiness until we are engaged, Withal, until I can see what my army can do, or is willing to do. Of the two, I will take the latter and hope for the former. As for how soon …’ He paused, and then pointed at Lightfall. ‘There, do you see that?’

A strange dull spot formed in the descending streams of light. It bled outward like a stain, reaching down to the very base, before the brighter edges began soaking back in. ‘What was that?’

‘Dragons, Withal.’

‘
What?
’

‘Soletaken, or allies. The sorcery of the Eleint that some call their
breath
. They assail the barrier with that chaotic power, and with each breath the ancient wound thins, the skin weakens.’

‘Mael save us, Yedan – you mean to stand against
dragons
? How?’

‘When the wound opens, it will be at the base – to open the way for their foot soldiers. A beachhead will need to be established – we need to be driven back from the wound. For a dragon to physically come through the breach will take all of its power, and when it does it will be on the ground, not in the air. And when a dragon is on the ground, it is vulnerable.’

‘But if the beachhead has driven you back—’

‘We must in turn overrun them.’

‘To reach that first dragon.’

‘Yes.’

‘And kill it.’

‘Ideally, halfway through the wound. And not killed, but dying. At that moment, my sister and the witches need to … pounce. To take that draconic life force—’

‘And seal the breach.’

Yedan Derryg nodded.

Withal stared at the man, his angled profile, his dark, calm eyes fixed so steadily upon Lightfall.
Beru’s sweet piss, does nothing rattle him? Prince Yedan Derryg, your soldiers will look to you, and now at last I begin to see what they will see. You are their own wall, their own Lightfall
.

But are you wounded, too?

‘Yedan, can it be done? What you describe?’

The man shrugged. ‘My sister refuses to kneel before the First Shore. It is the act that sanctifies the queen of the Shake, and she will not do it.’

‘Why ever not?’

His teeth bared in a brief grin, Yedan said, ‘We are a contrary lot, us royals. A queen who defies sanctification, a prince who will never produce an heir, and what of Awakening Dawn? What of our Sister of Night? Gone, for ever gone. Yan Tovis and me, we are all that’s left. Have you ever been in a Letherii city, Withal?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘Have you ever seen a Shake walk through a Letherii crowd?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘They keep their eyes on the cobbles. They shift and slide from anyone in their path. They do not walk as would you, tall, filling the space you need.’

‘I believe that has changed, Yedan – what you and your sister have done here—’

‘And sticking a sword in their hand and telling them to stand here, to fight and to die without a single backward step, will turn mice into snarling leopards? We shall find out the answer to that soon enough.’

Withal thought for a time on all that the prince had said, and then he shook his head. ‘Is it just your royal blood, then, that makes you and your sister the exceptions to the image you paint of the Shake? You are not mice.’

‘We trained as officers in the Letherii military – we considered that a duty, not to the king of Lether, but to the Shake. To lead we must be seen to lead, but more than that we needed to learn
how
to lead. This was the Letherii military’s gift to us, but it was a dangerous one, for it very nearly swallowed up Yan Tovis – perhaps it has, given the reluctance she now displays.’

‘If she does not kneel to the Shore,’ asked Withal, ‘can the witches alone seal the wound?’

‘No.’

‘And if there were more of them?’

Yedan glanced over. ‘If I hadn’t murdered them, you mean?’ He
seemed to find something left over in his mouth, worked it loose with his tongue, chewed and swallowed. ‘Hard to say. Possibly. Possibly not. Venal rivalries plagued them. It’s more likely they would have usurped my sister, or even killed her. And then they’d set about killing each other.’

‘But couldn’t you have stopped them?’

‘I did.’

Withal was silent for a moment, and then he said, ‘Surely she understands the danger?’

‘I imagine so.’

‘You’ve not tried to persuade her?’

‘In her own way, my sister is as stubborn as I am.’

‘Another wall,’ Withal muttered.

‘What?’

He shook his head. ‘Nothing of import.’

‘There. Another pass comes – look—’

A dark shape was descending behind Lightfall, a thing huge and blurred. Lunging to sweep past the heart of the wound. Something struck the barrier like a massive fist. Light sprayed like blood. Red cracks spread out from the dark stain.

Yedan stood. ‘Go back to the queen of Kharkanas, Withal,’ he said, drawing his sword. ‘One more pass, if that, and then this begins.’

‘Begins?’ Withal asked, as if struck dumb.

He saw Pithy and Brevity running up the strand. A sudden chill flooded through him. Terrible memories. Of his younger days, of battles upon the decks of the Meckros. Fear weakened his legs.

‘Tell her,’ continued Yedan, his tone as steady as ever, ‘we will hold as long as we can. Tell her, Withal, that once more the Shake stand upon the Shore.’

Spear points thrust out from the wound, a shivering, bristling horror – he could see figures, pushing, crowding, could almost hear their howls. Light spurted like ropes of gore. Light flooded out on to the strand, illuminating the crushed bones. Light lit faces beneath helms.

Tiste Liosan. The Children of Father Light. A star is born in the dark, and the heavens are revealed to all
.

‘Go, Withal. We are breached.’

We can hold against nothing. We can only crumble, like sand before the devouring wave. Yedan calls to his officers, his officers rush and shout, ranks form up, these would-be soldiers struggle and steady themselves. The Shake – my Shake – stand pale, eyes wide, straining to see what’s happening at the breach, where the Letherii, dreaming of riches, meet the thrusting spears
.

Screams now rise from the wound. There are Tiste Liosan, their
faces broken masks of fury, and all the madness of war is down there, at the breach. Life’s blood even now spilling down
.

We cannot hold. Look at my people, how their eyes track my brother now, but he’s only one man, and even he cannot defeat this enemy. Long ago, there were enough of us, enough to hold, enough to last and to die to save this realm. But no longer
.

Pully and Skwish loomed in front of her. They were shouting, screaming, but she was deaf to them. The clash of weapons grew desperate, like a thousand knives upon a single whetstone.
But you are flesh, my brother. Not a whetstone. Flesh
.

‘You must kneel!’

Yan Tovis frowned at the young woman before her. ‘Is it blood you want?’

Eyes widened.

She held out her wrists. ‘This?’

‘You need to kneel before the Shore!’

‘No,’ she growled. ‘Not yet. Go away, I’m done with you. The islanders are fighting – go down to them, kneel yourselves. In the sand beside the wounded and the dying – both of you. Look in their faces, and tell them it was all worth it.’ Yan Tovis lunged forward, pushing them so that they staggered. ‘Go! Tell them!’

You want me to kneel? To sanctify all of this? Shall I be yet one more ruler to urge my subjects to their deaths? Shall I stand tall and bold, shouting fierce promises of glory? How many lies can this scene withstand? Just how empty can words be?

‘Kneel,’ she whispered. ‘Yes. Everyone.
Kneel
.’

I am fallen prey
There was a time
When fangs sank deep
My body dragged
And flesh howled
Fear’s face was cold
With instinct’s need
There was a time
When strangers took me
And the unfamiliar
Whispered terror
And the shock of desires
We could not expect
Lit eyes so like our own
There was a time
When a friend twisted
Before my eyes
And all my solid faiths
Washed free underfoot
Unknowing the world
With new and cruel design
There was a time
When kin drew the knife
To sever sacred law
With red envy
And red malice
The horror visits
The heart of home
Do you see this journey?
What began in shadows
And dark distance
Has drawn ever closer
Now I am fallen prey
To the demon in my soul
And the face twisting
Is my own
Railing at failures
Of flesh and bone
The spirit withers
And I fall prey
We have listed
A world of enemies
And now we fall prey
We fall prey

Faces of Fear
Fisher kel Tath

BROKEN AT LAST, THE BODY SLUMPS AND THE SPIRIT PULLS FREE, THE
spirit wings away in flight and the sound of its wings is a sigh. But this, he knew, was not always the case. There were times when the spirit staggered loose with a howl, as broken as the body left behind. Too long inside tortured flesh, too long a sordid lover of punishing pain.

The sound of his horse’s hoofs was hollow, the creak of its tendons like the settling of an old, familiar chair, and he thought of a warm room, a place heady with memories threaded through with love and grief, with joy and suffering. But there was no pocket within him to hold tears, nothing he could squeeze in one fist just to feel the wet trickling down between his fingers. No gestures left to remind himself of who he had once been.

He found her rotted corpse, huddled in the lee of a boulder. There were red glints in her hair, beneath wind-blown dust. Her face was tucked down, sunken cheeks pressed against the knees. As if in her last moments she sat, curled up, staring down at the stumps of her feet.

It was all too far gone, he told himself. Even this felt mechanical, but disjointed, on the edge of failure; a measure of stumbling steps, like a man blind and lost, trying to find his way home. Dismounting, boots rocking as the bones inside them shifted and scraped, he walked to her, slowly sat down on the boulder, amidst the creaks of tendon, bone and armour.

Broken-winged, the spirit had staggered from this place. Lost even to itself. How could he hope to track it? Leaning forward, he settled his face into his hands, and – though it made no difference – he closed his one eye.

Who I am no longer matters. A chair, creaking. A small room, acrid with woodsmoke. Crows in the rafters – what mad woman would invite them into this place? The hunters have thundered past and the wolf no longer howls. She has no breath for such things, not now, not running as she must. Running – gods, running!