Reaper's Gale

‘As you like, Edur,’ Udinaas replied, ‘but my faith runs deeper than you imagine, and on an entirely different course from what you clearly think. I said the hero wins clear, at least momentarily, but I mentioned nothing of his hapless followers, his brave companions.’

‘All of whom died in the lair.’

‘Not at all. In the aftermath there was dire need for new blood. They were one and all adopted by the evil ones, who were only evil in a relative sense, being sickly and miserable and hungry and not too bright. In any case, there was a great renaissance in the lair’s culture, producing the finest art and treasures the world had ever seen.’

‘And what happened then?’ Seren asked.

‘It lasted until a new hero arrived, but that’s another tale for another time. I have talked myself hoarse.’

‘Among the women of the Tiste Edur,’ Fear Sengar said then, ‘is told the tale that Father Shadow, Scabandari Bloodeye, chose of his own free will to die, freeing his soul to journey down the Grey Road, a journey in search of absolution, for such was the guilt of what he had done on the plains of the Kechra.’

‘Now that is a convenient version.’

‘Now it is you who lack subtlety, Udinaas. This alternative interpretation is itself, allegorical, for what it truly represents is our guilt. For Scabandari’s crime. We cannot take back the deeds of Father Shadow; nor were we in any position, ever, to gainsay him. He led, the Edur followed. Could we have defied him? Possibly. But not likely. As such, we are left with a guilt that cannot be appeased, except in an allegorical sense. And so we hold to legends of redemption.’

Seren Pedac rose and walked over to set her scabbarded sword down beside the food pack. ‘Yet this was a tale held in private by the women of your tribes, Fear. Setting aside for the moment the curious fact that you know of it, how is it the promise of redemption belongs only to the women?’

‘The warriors follow another path,’ Fear replied. ‘That I know of the story-and the truth of Scabandari-is due to my mother, who rejected the tradition of secrecy. Uruth does not flee knowledge, and she would her sons do not either-’

‘Then how do you explain Rhulad?’ Udinaas asked.

‘Do not bait him,’ Seren Pedac said to the slave. ‘Rhulad is accursed. By the sword in his hand, by the god who made that sword.’

‘Rhulad was young,’ Fear said, unconsciously wringing his hands as he stared at the chamber’s worn floor. ‘There was so much still to teach him. He sought to become a great warrior, a heroic warrior. He was discomfited in the shadows of his three older brothers, and this made him precipitate.’

‘I think the god chose him… over Hannan Mosag,’ said Udinaas. ‘Rhulad had no choice.’

Fear studied Udinaas for a long moment, then he nodded. ‘If that is your belief, then you are far more generous towards Rhulad than any Tiste Edur. Again and again, Udinaas, you leave me unbalanced.’

Udinaas closed his eyes as he leaned back against the rough wall. ‘He spoke to me, Fear, because I listened. Something the rest of you never bothered doing-which isn’t that surprising, since your vaunted family order had just been shattered. Your precious hierarchy was in disarray. Shocking. Terrible. So, while he could not speak to you, you in turn were unwilling to hear him. He was silent and you were deaf to that silence. A typical mess-I don’t regret having no family.’

‘You lay all the blame at the foot of the chaotic god.’

Udinaas opened his eyes, blinked for a moment, then smiled. ‘Too convenient by far. Now, if I was seeking redemption, I’d leap on the back of that one, and ride the beast all the way-to the cliff’s edge, then right over, amen.’

‘Then… what?’

‘What to blame? Well, how should I know? I’m just a worn-out slave. But if I had to guess, I’d look first at that rigid hierarchy I mentioned earlier. It traps everyone, and everyone makes sure it traps everyone else. Until none of you can move, not side to side, not up either. You can move down, of course-just do something no-one else likes. Disapproval kicks out every rung of the ladder, and down you go.’

‘So it is the way of living among the Tiste Edur.’ Fear snorted, looked away.

‘All right,’ Udinaas said, sighing, ‘let me ask you this. Why wasn’t that sword offered to some Letherii-a brilliant officer of an army, a cold-blooded merchant prince? Why not Ezgara himself? Or better still, his son, Quillas? Now there was ambition and stupidity in perfect balance. And if not a Letherii, then why not a Nerek shaman? Or a Fent or a Tarthenal? Of course, all those others, well, those tribes were mostly obliterated-at least, all the taboos, traditions and rules of every sort that kept people in line-all gone, thanks to the Letherii.’

‘Very well,’ Seren Pedac said, ‘why not a Letherii?’

Udinaas shrugged. ‘The wrong fatal flaws, obviously. The Chained One recognized the absolute perfection of the Tiste Edur-their politics, their history, their culture and their political situation.’