The Crippled God (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #10)
Page 71A man slips the noose. A civilization steps from the path of its own hubris. Once. Twice. Thrice even. But what of the twentieth time? The fiftieth? Triumph falters. It always does. There was never a balance .
After all, common sense will tell you, it’s far easier to push than it is to pull .
‘How does Kilmandaros feel,’ Errastas asked, ‘about killing her own children?’
Sechul Lath glanced over at his mother, and then back at his companion. ‘Don’t you understand anything, Errastas? She doesn’t feel anything.’
After a moment, the lone eye shied away.
Now I think you understand .
What does the child want, that you did not have first? What do you own that the child does not want? Badalle had awoken this morning with these questions echoing in her head. The voice was a woman’s, and then a man’s. Both delivered in the same abject tones of despair.
She sat in the sun’s light as it bled in from the window, banishing the chill in her bones as would a lizard or a serpent, and struggled to understand the night’s visions, the dark, disturbing voices of strangers saying such terrible things.
It is what is passed on, I suppose. I think I see that .
She glanced over to where Saddic sat on the floor, his collection of useless objects arrayed around him, a lost look on his oddly wrinkled face. Like an old man with his life’s treasure. Only he’s forgotten how to count .
But what they owned, what they had, was not necessarily a good thing, a thing of virtue. Sometimes, what they had was poison, and the child’s hunger knew no different. How could it? And so the crimes passed on, from one generation to the next. Until they destroy us. Yes , I see that now. My dreams are wise, wiser than me. My dreams sing the songs of the Quitters, clever in argument, subtle in persuasion .
My dreams are warning me .
Saddic looked up guiltily, and then nodded.
Badalle twisted back and leaned out on the window ledge, craning round in order to see the western end of the plaza. Rutt was there, with Held in his arms. Others waited in the shadows of the surrounding buildings, as if figures on friezes had stepped out from their stone worlds.
It was just as well. They’d eaten all the fruit on the city’s trees.
And the crystal was stealing our souls .
‘Then it is time. Leave those things behind, Saddic.’
Instead, he began gathering them up.
A flash of anger hissed through Badalle, followed by fear. She didn’t understand either. Sighing, she dropped down from the ledge. ‘There will be Shards. Diamonds, Rubies and Opals. We will begin dying again.’
The boy looked at her with knowing eyes.
She sighed a second time. ‘There are fathers among us now. We must watch them carefully, Saddic, in case they find father thoughts.’
To that he shook his head, as if to deny her words. ‘No, Badalle,’ he said in his broken voice. ‘They just care for the young ones.’
So few words from you, Saddic. I’d thought you mute. What other things awaken in you, behind those old man’s eyes, that old man’s face?
Forcing herself on, she walked until she stood before Rutt, and then she spun round and raised her arms out to the sides.
‘The city spits us out
We are sour and we are bitter
To taste.
The blind feeders-on-us turn away
As they gorge
As they devour all that was meant for us
All we thought to inherit
Because we wanted what they had
Because we thought it belonged to us
Just as it did to them
And now the city’s walls
Steal our wants
And spit out what remains
It’s not much
Just something sour, something bitter
To taste.
And this is what you taste
In your mouths.
Something sour, something bitter.’
Rutt stared at her for a long moment, and then he nodded, and set out along the wide central avenue. Westward, into the Glass Desert. Behind him, the Snake uncoiled itself from its months-long slumber.