The Crippled God

their callous indifference, could not even comprehend.
    Their flesh is all they know – all these men and women here. Flesh as now clothes me. Feel our limits, our terrible limits. So frail, so temporary. A flitting light, a moment’s breath .
    I hear you surrendering it. This one gift that is the only gift ever given you – you yield it back into the firmament. And the world passes on, barely taking notice .
    Will no one notice?
    I will heed your deaths. I will remember .
    The Crippled God listened, past the horns of retreat, past the cries for healers, past the clashing signals announcing the next wave to advance upon these beleaguered few. The Crippled God listened, and he waited.
    Seven of the Dead Fires, the T’lan Imass stood on a bare rise to the east of the Malazan regulars. Nom Kala and Kalt Urmanal were now among them, as bound as true kin, and in Nom Kala’s mind it was well. She did not feel like a stranger. She did not feel alone.
    Urugal the Woven spoke. ‘She prepares for the enemy’s approach. We have listened to her silence and we know that there are no lies within her soul. Yet she is mortal.’
    ‘Many who see her,’ said Beroke, ‘believe her weak – not in her will, but in her flesh and bones. She has yielded her sword. I sought to give her mine, but she refused me.’
    ‘We understand the power of a formidable will,’ observed Kahlb the Silent Hunter.
    ‘Nevertheless,’ said Beroke.
    Urugal said, ‘I have elected that we remain with her. To stand here rather than join the fate of the marines. Should the Crippled God indeed rise once more, we shall not even witness that moment.’ He faced the others. ‘You did not agree with me on this – my command that we remain with her.’
    ‘It is what we may lose, Urugal,’ said Thenik the Shattered. ‘To see him reborn.’
    ‘Must our faith show its face to us, Thenik?’
    ‘I have longed for proof,’ the Shattered replied. ‘That all that we have done has purpose. Is this not what the Fallen One offered us? Yet we do not lend our swords to the defence of our god.’
    ‘In the manner I have chosen,’ countered Urugal, ‘we will do just that.’
    Nom Kala spoke, hesitantly. ‘Kin, I have listened to the soldiers – these Malazans. At the campfires, in the times of rest.’ They had turned to regard her now. ‘They speak to each other rarely, yet when they do,it is of her words from long ago. When she spoke of being unwitnessed. They do not, I feel, quite understand her – nor do I – and yet, when I hear them, when I see what stirs in their eyes … the word awakens something in them. Perhaps it is no more than defiance. But then, is not defiance mortality’s most powerful proclamation?’
    There was silence for a time, barring the faint moan of the morning wind.
    Finally, Beroke said, ‘Unwitnessed. Then let us make this our cause, too.’
    ‘One none of us understands?’ demanded Thenik.
    ‘Yes. One none of us understands.’
    ‘Very well. Nom Kala, your words awaken in me … defiance.’ Thenik turned to Urugal. ‘We have been ghosts among them. We have given them so little, because we had so little to give. This day, let us give to her all that we have left.’
    ‘The Fallen One,’ said Beroke, ‘has placed his trust in her. His faith. Urugal, I honour you. My kin, I honour you all.’ The T’lan Imass paused, and then said, ‘One must be sacrificed. The interference of Akhrast Korvalain remains and will do so until the last of the Forkrul Assail falls. But the sundering of the Vow, by one of us here, will grant us what we seek. I volunteer to be that sacrifice.’
    ‘Soft-Voice,’ said Urugal, ‘you are most formidable in battle. One of lesser use should be the one to sunder the Vow. It shall be me.’
    ‘You are both incorrect,’ said Thenik. ‘I am well-named the Shattered. There must be no sentimentality to this decision. Nor obstinate courage – after all, does any of us here not possess that? Beroke. Urugal. Kahlb and Halad. Nom Kala of the wise words. Kalt Urmanal of Trell blood. I shall open the way for you all, in the name of defiance. The discussion ends.’
    The T’lan Imass were silent.
    And in silence they fell to dust.
    The enemy had been sighted. The enemy was closing. Lostara Yil stood with the Adjunct in Tavore’s tent, watching as the woman prepared for battle. The Adjunct had selected a standard issue long sword from the depleted stores. Its last wielder had scorched uneven