The Crippled God

observation?’
    ‘Why not both?’
    ‘Indeed, why not both? Abyss knows, it’s easier that way.’
    ‘Why do you bother, then?’
    ‘Errastas, I am left with two choices. I could weep for a reason, or weep for no reason. In the latter we find madness.’
    ‘And is the former any different?’ Kilmandaros asked.
    ‘Yes. A part of me chooses to believe that if I weep long enough, I’ll weep myself out. And then, in the ashes – in the aftermath – will be born something else.’
    ‘Like what?’ Errastas demanded.
    Sechul Lath shrugged. ‘Hope.’
    ‘See this hole in my face, Knuckles? I too weep, but my tears are blood.’
    ‘My friend, at last you have become the true god of all the living worlds. When you finally stand at the very pinnacle of all creation, we shall raise statues marking your holy wounding, symbol of life’s ceaseless suffering.’
    ‘This I will accept, so long as the blood leaking down my face isn’t my own.’
    Kilmandaros grunted. ‘No doubt your worshippers will be happy to bleed for you, Errastas, until the Abyss swallows us all.’
    ‘And I shall possess a thirst to match their generosity.’
    ‘When we—’
    But Kilmandaros’s hand suddenly gripped Sechul’s shoulder and spun him round. ‘Friends,’ she said in a rumble, ‘it is time.’
    They faced the way they had come.
    From the ridge where they stood, the basin to the west stretched out flat, studded with rocks and tufts of wiry grass, for as far as they could see. But now, under the mid-morning light, the vista had begun to change. Spreading in a vast, curved shadow, the ground was bleaching, all colour draining away. From grey to white, until it seemed that the entire basin was a thing of bone and ash, and in the distance – at the very centre of this blight – the earth had begun to rise.
    ‘She awakens,’ said Kilmandaros.
    ‘And now,’ whispered Errastas, his lone eyes glittering bright, ‘we shall speak of dragons.’
    A hill where no hill had been before, lifting to command the horizon, bulging, swelling – a mountain—
    They saw it explode, a billowing eruption of earth and stone.
    Huge cracks ripped across the basin floor. The entire ridge rippled under them and all three Elder Gods staggered.
    As the column of dust and ashes rose skyward, as the cloud opened like a mushroom to fill half the sky, the sound finally reached them, solid as a rushing wall, igniting stunning agony inside their skulls. Sechul and Errastas were battered to the ground, sent tumbling. Even Kilmandaros was thrown from her feet – Sechul stared across at her, saw her mouth opened wide in a terrible scream that he could not hear amidst the howling wind, the crushing thunder of that eruption.
    Twisting round, he stared at the vast, roiling cloud. Korabas. You are returned to the world .
    Within the maelstrom spinning vortices of dirt, dust and smoke had begun to form. He watched them coil, pushed out to the sides as if buffeted by some unseen column of rising air at the very centre. Sechul frowned.
    Her wings? Are those made by her wings? Elder blood!
    As the roar died away, Sechul Lath heard Errastas. Laughing.
    ‘Mother?’
    Kilmandaros was climbing to her feet. She glanced across at her son. ‘Korabas Otataral iras’Eleint. Otataral, Sechul, is not a thing – it is a title.’ She turned to Errastas. ‘Errant! Do you know its meaning?’
    The one-eyed Elder God’s laughter slowly died. He looked away. ‘What do I care for ancient titles?’ he muttered.
    ‘Mother?’
    She faced the terrible blight of earth and sky to the west. ‘Otas’taral. In every storm there is an eye, a place of … stillness. Otas’taral means the Eye of Abnegation. And now, upon the world, we have birthed a storm .’
    Sechul Lath sank back down, covered his face with dust-stained hands. Will I ever tire? Yes. I have. See what we have unleashed. See what we have begun .
    Errastas staggered close, falling to his knees beside Sechul, who looked up into that ravaged face and saw both manic glee and brittle terror. The Errant smiled a ghastly smile. ‘Do you see, Setch? They have to stop her! They have no choice!’
    Yes, please. Stop her .
    ‘She has begun to move,’ Kilmandaros announced.
    Sechul pushed Errastas to one side and sat up. But the sky revealed nothing: too much dust, too much smoke and ash – the pall had devoured two-thirds of the heavens, and the last third looked sickly,as if in retreat. The unnatural gloom was