The Crippled God

the Forkrul Assail.
    And then, as if within a whirlwind, Brys Beddict vanished inside swirling gloom that was so thick as to be impenetrable. It spread out, devouring the huge menhirs.
    Aranict now began howling – she was being pulled forward – and Faint suddenly understood. She has him. She has hold of the prince! Gods below —
    Faint staggered towards the Atri-Ceda – but something resisted with devastating pressure, bitter cold, and she was flung back, gasping, spitting out blood. On her hands and knees, she lifted her head and looked across.
    Most of Aranict’s arms had disappeared inside the cloud. And now Faint could make out words in the Atri-Ceda’s cries.
    ‘Mael! Damn you! Help me!’
    Faint crawled over to Precious Thimble. ‘Stop that screaming, witch! Look at me! No, here, look at me!’
    But the eyes that fixed on Faint belonged to a mad woman. ‘I can’t help her! Can’t you see that? She’s gone too far – too deep – how is sheeven alive? It’s impossible!’ Precious Thimble pulled away, scrabbling like a crab. ‘He’s lost! He’s for ever lost!’
    Faint stared at the witch, as the words slowly sank deep. But that’s not fair. Not a love like that – no! You can’t take it away – don’t you dare kill it! ‘Precious! What can I do? To help? Tell me!’
    ‘Nothing!’
    Go to Hood then .
    She spun round, drawing a dagger. Mael’s an Elder God – but Aranict must understand this. He cannot answer this prayer, not the way it is now. I won’t stand here to see this love die. I won’t . The blade cut a glistening slash along her left arm, and then, fumbling to take the knife in her left hand, she carved deep diagonally across her right forearm. Forcing herself forward, she reached for Aranict.
    Mael – take my blood in offering. Just fucking take it!
    The pressure sought to rebuff her, but she pushed harder – and then she was through, floundering, unable to breathe, the cold crushing her – she saw her blood billowing out as if under water, saw it spin on currents – so much of it – she almost lost sight of Aranict.
    Desperate, feeling her bones cracking, Faint pushed closer, reached out and took the Atri-Ceda into an embrace.
    Mael … don’t you dare … don’t you dare tell me this is not enough .
    Precious Thimble had stared, disbelieving, as Faint struggled to reach Aranict. Her blood was a thick billowing cloud streaming out from her, curling round to whirl into the dark cloud. There seemed to be no end to it.
    Someone had taken hold of the witch – strong arms closing round her, lifting her from the ground. Twisting now, she looked up.
    Amby Bole’s face was almost unrecognizable. ‘This is bad magic,’ he said.
    ‘Save Faint! Save her!’
    But the man shook his head. ‘No one can live in there.’
    ‘Save her, Amby! For my love – save her!’
    His frown deepened, his eyelids suddenly fluttering, and he met her eyes. ‘What?’
    ‘You want me? I’m yours, damn you – just save Faint!’
    Bole threw her down, visage darkening. ‘All the fun ended with you! I don’t want you, witch! I don’t ever want to see you again!’
    Precious stared up at him, and then she snarled. ‘I will chase you, Amby! I’ll hunt you down, no matter where you go! Year after year, I will follow you, I swear it! There’s nowhere you can run to – you understand me? Nowhere!’
    ‘I hate you!’
    ‘The only place you could hope to escape me – is there !’ and she pointed at that billowing cloud of blood now obscuring Faint and Aranict.
    Amby made an animal cry, spun and ran heavy-footed – straight into the crimson cloud.
    Precious Thimble fell back. Gods below but that man is stupid!
    ‘ Hold on, my love ,’ whispered a voice close to Faint’s ear. ‘ Some laws even an Elder God cannot easily defy. But he’s trying .’
    Faint felt the life leaving her. She was lying against the legs of Aranict – she could feel them cold as bars of ice. Were her eyes open? All she could see was the redness of her own blood. ‘Sweetest, is that you?’
    ‘ Always knew you had a romantic streak. What a thing to do! ’
    ‘I’m dying.’
    ‘ Looks like it. Regretting your moment of madness? ’
    Faint shook her head – or tried to. ‘Only if it fails.’
    ‘ Well, how often do we regret successes? ’
    ‘Is it enough, Sweetie? It’s all I have.’
    ‘ You’re in water, fool, of course it looks like a lot – and if you stay in here any longer you’ll bleed