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516 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 12, 2008
They stood silently for a few minutes.
‘Talk to me,’ said Spikes.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ he said after a while.
‘I’m going to push you over the railing if you don’t stop being a drama queen,’ he said after a while.
‘What do you want me to say, Spikes? I could start whining again about my shortcomings as a Dark Lord, but we’ve done that. And I think I’m getting a lot better at the Dark Lord business, actually.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about.’
‘I had to take my responsibilities seriously at some point. What happened happened because I didn’t.’
‘What happened was bad luck.’
‘Bad luck?’ Kirin whirled around, eyes blazing. ‘Don’t coddle me, Spikes. You told me yourself. I remember every word. “There’s trouble at the tower. A bunch of Wu Sen monks and Pimawen assassins have turned up to kill you and take the Gauntlet back to Xi’en, and every time they’ve raided the tower looking for you, they’ve killed everyone in their way.” And I did nothing.’
‘You did nothing wrong. You knew you could protect yourself. You did not fear them. Rightly so, as it turned out.’
‘I don’t think the people who died protecting me would see it that kindly, Spikes. I was their great Leader. I had no right to return and pretend to take charge if I had no intention of looking after the safety of my followers.’
‘You didn’t ask them to come help you.’
‘I chose to be Dark Lord. When I did, these people, asurs and rakshases and pashans and humans and monsters all, became my people. All I’ve done since then is try to mislead them, turn them from their ways towards what I thought was right, make them do what I wanted, what I thought was better for them.’
‘Peace, education, brighter futures. How selfish of you.’
‘No, Spikes. I’ve been guilty of the same sort of arrogance I’ve always despised in every chest-thumping hero in history, dragging the weak and confused towards his own stupid heroic visions of ideal futures against their will. How could I not have seen this?
‘I think it’s time I stopped trying to impose my wishes on my people and started trying to give them what they want.’
‘Well, the safat is here, good Spikes,’ said Asvin. ‘Are you ready?’
‘No,’ said Spikes. ‘I’m just sitting on top of a boiling geyser because it helps me think.’
Asvin smiled. ‘And so it begins.’
He shook his fist at the sky.
‘Let the heavens shake and tremble!’ he cried. ‘For I, Asvin, Prince of Avranti, The Chosen One, Hero of Simoqin, Prophesied Saviour, Pride of the East –‘
‘Get on with it,’ murmured Spikes. ‘The bird’s almost here.’
‘- Wielder of the Bow of Fire, the Sword of Raka, the Armour of the Scorpion Man, the Ring of Akarat and Many Other Important Objects, snatched from life before my time!’
‘Forgot where you were going with that sentence, didn’t you? You, Asvin, lengthy introduction, then what?’
The window slid open and a bald, bearded man stuck his head out.
‘What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?’ he asked.
‘A big bang,’ said the Dagger, shaking his head.
‘Good. The following statement is true. The preceding statement is false. How is this possible?’
‘Ignore my answer.’
‘Perfect. Why did the dish run away alone?’
‘Because there was no spoon.’
‘Welcome to the mansion of Al-Qatras,’ said the man, and shut the window.
The Dark Lord raised his hand, and a great ball of fire appeared around it. The warriors of Imokoi stared at him adoringly, waiting for him to inspire them even further.
‘Speech,’ said Aciram, and covered his ears to drown out the roar of applause.
‘Archers ready!’ called Angda, and the vanars bent their bows.
‘What is she doing?’ asked Red, smiling.
‘It would seem fairly obvious,’ said Aciram.
‘I am surprised because she is not a man, and I had expected her to remember the tactics we spent so many hours discussing. Perhaps you should ask her to instruct her archers to put their bows aside.’
Aciram clapped his hand to his forehead. ‘I beg your pardon. I had forgotten.’
‘We cannot hit them with arrows. They will merely stop them and hurl them back at us. We have seen them do this before.’
‘Yes, yes, I know.’
‘We might as well ask our archers to shoot one another. It would save them effort and arrows.’
‘I had a lot on my mind, dearest. I should have remembered.’
‘The archers are only to shoot when they have captured a large number of our troops and are using them against us. They are not to shoot at ravians.’
Eyes blazing, Aciram ordered the archers to stand down.
‘Should I go through the list of other tactics, in case you have forgotten those as well?’
Aciram groaned and glared. ‘How long have we been married?’
There was another light. A flash of light, at Kirin’s feet.
And then there was a baby.
Kirin and Maya both leaped backwards, yelling in horror. The baby looked at them cheerily.
‘Ey. Mum-mum-mum,’ it said. It was an extraordinarily cheerful-looking baby, composed almost entirely of circles. Maya peered, delicately, and discovered it was a girl.
‘What is this?’ she demanded.
‘It’s a baby.’
‘I know it’s a baby, damn it. What is it doing here? Where did it come from?’
‘What makes you think I know?’
They peered at the baby, and she peered back at them.
‘Should we pick it up?’ asked Kirin.
‘Why?’
‘Well, isn’t that what you do with babies that appear out of nowhere?’
‘What makes you think I know what to do with babies? Is it because I’m a woman?’
‘Gog!’ said the baby, sensing disharmony. She decided she didn’t like it.
She began to cry, and Kirin and Maya stared at each other in absolute terror. The baby cried with venom. Her piercing wail shook the sky, and the Psomedean Ocean backed away slowly, and the palm-trees stopped swaying and would have shuffled embarrassedly if they’d had feet. The seagulls on Spikes’ shoulder fluttered away, complaining loudly about the neighbourhood.
Spikes walked up to Kirin and Maya and looked at the baby, blinking slowly.
‘How long have I been asleep?’ he asked.
The baby continued to cry. Spikes picked her up and shook her gently, with the general air of a crocodile trying to snap a gazelle’s neck, and the baby liked this. She cooed, and gurgled, and clutched one of Spikes’ tusks with a tiny fist, and said ‘Mamma.’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ shuddered Spikes, and handed the baby to Kirin, who looked at her as if she might explode, and tried to hand her to Maya, but Maya, being a very intelligent woman, had backed out of range long ago.
A hungry horde of cannibals! They fought hard but we fought harder,
We chopped and diced, we carved and sliced, and helped restock their larder.
...
From isle to isle we rode in style, from test to test we scurried,
From shore to shore we sang and swore, from beach to beach we hurried,
We solved so many riddles rare, won so many races,
Learned such fascinating facts, punched so many faces,
...
Perhaps the toughest tests of all were on the isles of Aedens
One island full of luscious lads, and one of beauteous maidens,
Firm and lithe their flawless forms, guileless their pretty eyes,
We loved them with a sailor’s love, and left them with a sigh.
...
We found a lonely stranded man, his name was Livar-Gil,
For years he’d sought to build a yacht, return to hearth and till.
‘Why go back, Gil?’ we asked. ‘Was not your old life rude and tough?’
We left him on the maidens’ isle. He seemed content enough.
...
‘Why carry on?’ Jen asked Mantric. ‘Why bother? What’s the use?
‘Why soldier on from dusk to dawn? Why take all this abuse?
‘Why do gods make mortal men and then seek to destroy them?
‘Why take the pains? Are they insane? Or do we just annoy them?’
‘We are their spark, their works of art,’ said Mantric, ‘We’re their muses,’
‘Each one of us a muddled mass that thrills, delights, confuses,
‘Through us they see, they seek, they peek, they speak, they want, they wish,’
‘Why kill us then?’ ‘I do not know. Look, a pretty fish!’
...
We’d passed the tests, we’d joked and jested through the churning waters,
On sea or land, none could withstand the daring Duck’s dear daughters!
A mist of mystery kissed the sea, a distant trumpet sounded,
We’d come to seek the Standing Sea and soon we found we’d found it!
‘Oweeyay,’ said the Baby of Destiny with much solemnity.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Maya. ‘But I’m reading. Play on your own until Fatima gets here.’
The Future Wielder of the Thunderbolt of Universal Doom bubbled mutinously, considered crying, and decided against it. Maya had recently sealed her mouth with Gum That Bubbles after three sleepless nights; she was clearly a woman with no heart at all. Instead, the Baby of Destiny tried low cunning; she sat up with much difficulty and concentrated on looking adorable. It was an unequal battle from the start; after a few seconds Maya succumbed to blackmail and social pressure, set her book aside and picked up the wobbling goddess, who accepted her affections graciously, saying ‘Hoo!’ and pulling a few clumps of Maya’s hair out.
(...) she seemed to be able to eat almost anything, from insects to solid steel. On one memorable occasion, while Kirin had been sleeping open-mouthed, she had eaten her way right through the hut’s wall, and had been found after a frantic search on Bolvudis’ southern shore, trying to see if she could swallow the Psomedean Ocean.
‘You’re not listening. Kirin doesn’t know how any stories end. This is because Kirin doesn’t see his life, or anyone else’s, or anything with real living people in it, as a story. You should try that, too. Then you won’t get so upset when the other characters in your story, otherwise known as real people, don’t behave the way you expect them to.’
‘It is you who do not understand. We are all living out a great story. It has been twisted and perverted by Kirin and his evil minions, and it is my task to restore it and bring it to its rightful end.’
‘Then turn a few pages ahead in your head, you fool, and you’ll discover there is no rightful end. Things aren’t going to clear up magically. There’s no scene where everything’s explained, and everyone’s lives don’t go back to being the way they were. There’s no going back anywhere. And no one’s happy ever after. Ever.’
Marshall Askesis’s plan to invade Avranti and defeat the ravians did not work. This was because the ravians rather uncooperatively decided to invade first.
As the day wore on, we filled Dahn-Gem’s Wasteland with bodies, […] and made tombstones for them by breaking pashans. I use the term ‘we’ loosely; my main function was to provide moral support and stand attractively with one foot on the largest corpse available afterwards. ~ Eridon, Ravian Warrior
‘Do you still want to kill the monk?’ Spikes asked Kirin.
‘What monk?’
‘Right.’