Midnight Tides
Such dark moments in Letherii history were systematically disregarded, she knew, and played virtually no role in their culture’s vision of itself as bringers of progress, deliverers of freedom from the fetters of primitive ways of living, the cruel traditions and vicious rituals. Liberators, then, destined to wrest from savage tyrants their repressed victims, in the name of civilization. That the Letherii then imposed their own rules of oppression was rarely acknowledged. There was, after all, but one road to success and fulfilment, gold-cobbled and maintained by Letherii toll-collectors, and only the free could walk it.
Free to profit from the same game. Free to discover one’s own inherent disadvantages. Free to be abused. Free to be exploited. Free to be owned in lieu of debt. Free to be raped.
And to know misery. It was a natural truth that some walked that road faster than others. There would always be those who could only crawl. Or fell to the wayside. The most basic laws of existence, after all, were always harsh.
The statues before her were indifferent to all of that. Their worshippers had died defending them, and all for nothing. Memory was not loyal to the past, only to the exigencies of the present. She wondered if the Tiste Edur saw the world the same way. How much of their own past had they selectively forgotten, how many unpleasant truths had they twisted into self-appeasing lies? Did they suffer from the same flaw, this need to revise history to answer some deep-seated diffidence, a hollowness at the core that echoed with miserable uncertainty? Was this entire drive for progress nothing more than a hopeless search for some kind of fulfilment, as if on some instinctive level there was a murky understanding, a recognition that the game had no value, and so victory was meaningless?
Such understanding would have to be murky, for clarity was hard, and the Letherii disliked things that were hard, and so rarely chose to think in that direction. Baser emotions were the preferred response, and complex arguments were viewed with anger and suspicion.
She laid a hand upon the shoulder of the nearest statue, and was surprised to discover the stone warm to her touch. Retaining the sun’s heat, perhaps. But no, it was too hot for that. Seren pulled her hand away – any longer and she would have burned her skin.
Unease rose within her. Suddenly chilled, she stepped back. And now saw the dead grass surrounding each statue, desiccated by incessant heat.
It seemed the Tarthenal gods were not dead after all. Sometimes the past rises once again to reveal the lies. Lies that persisted through nothing more than force of will, and collective opinion. Sometimes that revelation comes drenched in fresh blood . Delusions invited their own shattering. Letherii pre-eminence. Tiste Edur arrogance. The sanctity of my own flesh .
Iron Bars stood at the edge of the clearing. ‘Corlo said there was something… restless… in this wood.’
She sighed. ‘Better were it only me.’
He cocked his head, smiled wryly.
She approached. ‘Tarthenal. I thought I knew this land. Every trail, the old barrow grounds and holy sites. It is a responsibility of an Acquitor, after all.’
‘We hope to make use of that knowledge,’ the Avowed said. ‘I don’t want no fanfare when we enter Letheras.’
‘Agreed. Even among a crowd of refugees, we would stand out. You might consider finding clothing that looks less like a uniform.’
‘I doubt it’d matter, lass. Either way, we’d be seen as deserters and flung into the ranks of defenders. This ain’t our war and we’d rather have nothing to do with it. The question is, can you get us into Letheras unseen?’
‘Good. The lads are almost ready with the new stirrups.’
She glanced back at the statues.
‘Makes you wonder, don’t it, lass?’
‘About what?’
‘The way old anger never goes away.’
Seren faced him again. ‘Anger. That’s something you’re intimately familiar with, I gather.’
A frown. ‘Corlo talks too much.’
‘Oh, it’s that, all right. Come on, it’s time to go.’
‘Sorry,’ she said as she followed him back into the forest. ‘I was prying.’
‘Aye, you were.’
‘Well. In return, you can ask me what you like.’
‘And you’ll answer?’
‘Maybe.’
‘You don’t seem the type to end up as you did in Trate. So the merchant you were working for killed himself. Was he your lover or something?’