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‘I will kill him.’
‘There is a queue for that, mahybe. But he meant you little harm and the cause was just and indeed agreeable to all present-’
‘Not to me!’
‘Well, you excused yourself forthwith, as I recall. We had a passably benign evening. I even boiled up that pot of wrinkled things you imagined to be vegetables. While we did not partake of the broth, the exercise made work for my restless hands.’
She felt rested, virulently awake. ‘I will allow,’ she said, ‘it was a good night’s sleep.’
‘And a day,’ said Varandas. ‘In oblivion, time is stolen, never to be returned. Imagine, some people actually welcome the losses. They measure them out as victories against what, boredom? The banal consideration of their own mental paucity? The wretched uselessness of their lives? The sheer pall of their dyspeptic thoughts? I am considering a thesis. On the Seduction of Oblivion. My arguments will be senseless, as befits the subject.’
‘I did not think it possible,’ Korya said.
‘What?’
‘I now believe Haut to be exceptional among you Jaghut.’
Varandas seemed to consider the observation for a moment, and then he grunted. ‘I do not disagree, although I find the notion disagreeable. Tell me, has he explained why the Lord of Hate is so called?’
She picked herself up from the filthy stone floor. ‘No. I need to pee.’
‘There is a hole out back, but beware the crumbling edge.’
‘I’m not a man, you fool.’
‘Fret not. It is large enough to mean that you do not have to aim, dear.’
Moving near the table as she made for the doorway, she paused, eyes fixing on the objects arrayed in front of the Jaghut. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Playing with dolls. Why?’
‘I recognize those,’ she whispered.
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‘I will kill him.’
‘There is a queue for that, mahybe. But he meant you little harm and the cause was just and indeed agreeable to all present-’
‘Not to me!’
‘Well, you excused yourself forthwith, as I recall. We had a passably benign evening. I even boiled up that pot of wrinkled things you imagined to be vegetables. While we did not partake of the broth, the exercise made work for my restless hands.’
She felt rested, virulently awake. ‘I will allow,’ she said, ‘it was a good night’s sleep.’
‘And a day,’ said Varandas. ‘In oblivion, time is stolen, never to be returned. Imagine, some people actually welcome the losses. They measure them out as victories against what, boredom? The banal consideration of their own mental paucity? The wretched uselessness of their lives? The sheer pall of their dyspeptic thoughts? I am considering a thesis. On the Seduction of Oblivion. My arguments will be senseless, as befits the subject.’
‘I did not think it possible,’ Korya said.
‘What?’
‘I now believe Haut to be exceptional among you Jaghut.’
Varandas seemed to consider the observation for a moment, and then he grunted. ‘I do not disagree, although I find the notion disagreeable. Tell me, has he explained why the Lord of Hate is so called?’
She picked herself up from the filthy stone floor. ‘No. I need to pee.’
‘There is a hole out back, but beware the crumbling edge.’
‘I’m not a man, you fool.’
‘Fret not. It is large enough to mean that you do not have to aim, dear.’
Moving near the table as she made for the doorway, she paused, eyes fixing on the objects arrayed in front of the Jaghut. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Playing with dolls. Why?’
‘I recognize those,’ she whispered.
‘Of course you do. Your master bought a dozen for you the week you came into his care. I make them.’
She found it impossible to speak, but tears filled her eyes, and then she rushed outside.
Standing in the rain, Korya lifted her face to the sky. Oh, goddess, they were not your children after all.
From the doorway behind her, Varandas said, ‘He deems you his last hope.’
She shook her head. In the valley below, lightning was flashing and she heard the mutter of thunder through the rain.
‘The slayer of Karish,’ continued the Jaghut, ‘set you upon a trail. There was purpose in that. The killer wishes to stir us to life, or so Haut believes. But I wonder if that path was not made for you instead.’
‘That makes no sense,’ she retorted, angered by the thought. ‘No one knows anything about me.’
‘Untrue. You are the only Tiste to ever live among the Jaghut. Your arrival awakened debate and conjecture, not just among the Jaghut, but also among the Azathanai.’
She faced him. ‘Why?’
‘He has made a sorcery for you-’
‘Who? Haut? He’s done nothing of the sort. I am his maid, his cook, his slave.’
‘Lessons in humility. But no, I was not speaking of Haut. I was speaking of Draconus.’
‘The Consort? I have never even met him!’
‘Ah. By “you” I meant the Tiste. Draconus has given the Tiste the sorcery of Darkness. He has walked the Forest of Night, and the very shores of Chaos itself. It is within you, mahybe, and your progress has been observed by many.’
‘That makes no sense. There is no sorcery in me.’
‘Unfortunately,’ Varandas went on, ‘some of those observers possessed inimical thoughts, and unpleasant ambitions. They saw the precedent of the Suzerain’s manipulation of power. By the path you were set upon, there at the Spar, you were mocked. Draconus was too patient. Mother Dark is lost within his gift to her. The Tiste are blind to their own power.’
‘I did not know that cooking and washing floors could awaken sorcery, Jaghut.’
‘The greatest gift of education, Korya, is the years of shelter provided when learning. Do not think to reduce that learning to facts and the utterances of presumed sages. Much of what one learns in that time is in the sphere of concord, the ways of society, the proprieties of behaviour and thought. Haut would tell you that this is another hard-won achievement of civilization: the time and safe environment in which to learn how to live. When this is destroyed, undermined or discounted, then that civilization is in trouble.’
‘You Jaghut are obsessed with this, aren’t you? Yet you threw it all away!’
