A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

fade.'
    Seerdomin rubbed at the grit on his face. There had
been dirty rain, gusting up to where they stood, but it had
since wandered back down into the basin, a rotted brown
curtain dragged aimlessly away.
    'Sometimes,' said the Redeemer, 'things leak through.'
    Seerdomin grunted, then asked, 'From where?'
    'Lives of the T'lan. So much was unleashed, so much
forgotten only to be lived once again. There was anguish.
There was . . . glory.'
    He had not been there to witness that moment. The
kneeling of the T'lan Imass. Such a thing was hard to
imagine, yet it sent shivers through him none the less. A
moment to shake every belief, when the world drew breath
and . . . held it .
    'Did you know what to expect?'
    'They humbled me,' said the Redeemer.
    I suspect it was you who humbled them, Itkovian – yes, a
mortal back then, just a mortal. No, they were the ones struck
mute, filled with awe and wonder. I do not know how I know
that, but I do.
    . . . things leak through.
    'The madness of the weather comes from the memories
of the T'lan Imass? Can you not summon them? Draw
them up in ranks before you? Do you not think they would
proudly accept such a thing? A way to pay you back for
what you did? Redeemer, summon the spirits of the T'lan
Imass – and that woman below will never reach you.'
    'I cannot. I will not. Yes, they would accept that notion.
Reciprocity. But I will not. What I gave I gave freely, a gift,
not an exchange. Oh, they forced one upon me, at the end,
but it was modest enough – or I was weak enough then not
to resist it.'
    'If you will not accept service,' Seerdomin then said,
'why do you seek it from me?'
    'You are free to choose,' the Redeemer replied. 'Defend
me, or step aside and see me fall.'
    'That's hardly a choice!'
    'True. Such things rarely are. I would send you back, but
your body no longer functions. It lies on a heap of rubbish
behind the pilgrim camp. Scavengers have fed, for your
flesh is not poisoned as is that of the others thus disposed.'
    Seerdomin grimaced, fixing eyes once more upon the
High Priestess dancing on the plain. 'Thank you for the
grisly details. If I stand aside – if I watch you die – then
what will happen to me? To my spirit?'
    'I do not know. If I am able, I will grieve for you then, as
much as I do for the souls of all those I now hold within
me.'
    Seerdomin slowly turned and studied the god. 'If she
takes you – all those T'lan Imass—'
    'Will be helpless. They will succumb. All who are within
me will succumb.'
    'So much for standing aside.'
    'Seerdomin. Segda Travos, you are not responsible for
their fate. I am. This error is mine. I will not judge you
harshly should you choose to yield.'
    'Error. What error?'
    'I am . . . defenceless. You sensed that from the very
beginning – when you came to the barrow and there knelt,
honouring me with your companionship. I possess no
provision for judgement. My embrace is refused no one.'
    'Then change that, damn you!'
    'I am trying.'
    Seerdomin glared at the god, who now offered a faint
smile. After a moment, Seerdomin hissed and stepped
back. 'You ask this of me ? Are you mad? I am not one of
your pilgrims! Not one of your mob of would-be priests and
priestesses! I do not worship you!'
    'Precisely, Segda Travos. It is the curse of believers that
they seek to second-guess the one they claim to worship.'
    'In your silence what choice do they have?'
    The Redeemer's smile broadened. 'Every choice in the
world, my friend.'
    Countless paths, a single place sought by all. If she could be
bothered, she could think on the innumerable generations
– all that rose to stand with thoughts reaching into the
night sky, or plunging into the mesmerizing flames of the
campfire – the hunger did not change. The soul lunged,
the soul crawled, the soul scraped and dragged and pitched
headlong, and in the place it desired – needed – there was
this: the bliss of certainty.
    Conviction like armour, eyes shining like swords; oh, the
bright glory that was the end to every question, every doubt.
Shadows vanished, the world raged sudden white and black.
Evil dripped with slime and the virtuous stood tall as giants.
Compassion could be partitioned, meted out only to the
truly deserving – the innocent and the blessed. As for all
the rest, they could burn, for they deserved no less.
    She danced like truth unleashed. The beauty of
simplicity flowed pure and sweet through her limbs,
rode the ebb and sweep of her sighing breath. All