The Crippled God

Awkward with your inheritance, the heavy blade turning this way and that in your hand .
    Why should we pay for someone else’s hatred?
    ‘What so troubles you, Aparal?’
    ‘We cannot know the reason for our god’s absence, Lord. I fear it is presumptuous of us to speak of his failure.’
    Kadagar Fant was silent.
    Aparal closed his eyes. He should never have spoken. I do not learn. He walked a bloody path to rule and the pools in the mud still gleam red. The air about Kadagar remains brittle. This flower shivers to secret winds. He is dangerous, so very dangerous .
    ‘The Priests spoke of impostors and tricksters, Aparal.’ Kadagar’s tone was even, devoid of inflection. It was the voice he used when furious. ‘What god would permit that? We are abandoned. The path before us now belongs to no one else – it is ours to choose.’
    Ours. Yes, you speak for us all, even as we cringe at our own confessions . ‘Forgive my words, Lord. I am made ill – the taste—’
    ‘We had no choice in that, Aparal. What sickens you is the bitter flavour of its pain. It passes.’ Kadagar smiled and clapped him on the back. ‘I understand your momentary weakness. We shall forget your doubts, yes? And never again speak of them. We are friends, after all, and I would be most distressed to be forced to brand you a traitor. Set upon the White Wall … I would kneel and weep, my friend. I would.’
    A spasm of alien fury hissed through Aparal and he shivered. Abyss! Mane of Chaos, I feel you! ‘My life is yours to command, Lord.’
    ‘Lord of Light!’
    Aparal turned, as did Kadagar.
    Blood streaming from his mouth, Iparth Erule staggered closer, eyes wide and fixed upon Kadagar. ‘My lord, Uhandahl, who was last to drink, has just died. He – he tore out his own throat !’
    ‘Then it is done,’ Kadagar replied. ‘How many?’
    Iparth licked his lips, visibly flinched at the taste, and then said, ‘You are the First of Thirteen, Lord.’
    Smiling, Kadagar stepped past Iparth. ‘Kessobahn still breathes?’
    ‘Yes. It is said it can bleed for centuries—’
    ‘But the blood is now poison,’ Kadagar said, nodding. ‘The wounding must be fresh, the power clean. Thirteen, you say. Excellent.’
    Aparal stared at the dragon staked to the slope behind Iparth Erule. The enormous spears pinning it to the ground were black with gore and dried blood. He could feel the Eleint’s pain, pouring from it in waves. Again and again it tried to lift its head, eyes blazing, jaws snapping, but the vast trap held. The four surviving Hounds of Light circled at a distance, hackles raised as they eyed the dragon. Seeing them, Aparal hugged himself. Another mad gamble. Another bitter failure. Lord of Light, Kadagar Fant, you have not done well in the world beyond .
    Beyond this terrible vista, and facing the vertical ocean of deathless souls as if in mocking madness, rose the White Wall, which hid the decrepit remnants of the Liosan city of Saranas. The faint elongated dark streaks lining it, descending just beneath the crenellated battlements, were all he could make out of the brothers and sisters who had been condemned as traitors to the cause. Below their withered corpses ran the stains from everything their bodies had drained down the alabaster facing. You would kneel and weep, would you, my friend?
    Iparth asked, ‘My lord, do we leave the Eleint as it is?’
    ‘No. I propose something far more fitting. Assemble the others. We shall veer.’
    Aparal started but did not turn. ‘Lord—’
    ‘We are Kessobahn’s children now, Aparal. A new father, to replace the one who abandoned us. Osserc is dead in our eyes and shall remain so. Even Father Light kneels broken, useless and blind.’
    Aparal’s eyes held on Kessobahn. Utter such blasphemies often enough and they become banal, and all shock fades. The gods lose their power, and we rise to stand in their stead . The ancient dragon wept blood, and in those vast, alien eyes there was nothing but rage. Our father. Your pain, your blood, our gift to you. Alas, it is the only gift we understand . ‘And once we have veered?’
    ‘Why, Aparal, we shall tear the Eleint apart.’
    He’d known what the answer would be and he nodded. Our father .
    Your pain, your blood, our gift. Celebrate our rebirth, O Father Kessobahn, with your death. And for you, there shall be no return .
    ‘ I have nothing with which to bargain. What brings you to me? No, I see that. My broken servant cannot