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He didn’t mind the scars: he knew that the attention and love of animals were no gentle thing. It often involved a certain amount of blood.
What he was waiting for, Christopher couldn’t have explained: he only hoped, in a way that burned in his lungs and stomach, that there was something more than that which he had so far seen.
Some sentences have the power to change everything. There are the usual suspects: I love you, I hate you, I’m pregnant, I’m dying, I regret to tell you that this country is at war. But the words with the greatest power to create both havoc and marvels are these: “I need your help.”
But Christopher didn’t have the words, then, to explain what, nonetheless, he knew: that sometimes, if you are among the very lucky, a spark of understanding cuts like lightning across the space between two people. It’s a defibrillator for the heart. And it toughens you. It nourishes you. And the word we’ve chosen for it (which is an insufficient word for being so abruptly upended in a new and finer place) is friendship. (He would never find it again, that kind of friendship. But once is enough. You need it only once—so that you may know what your human heart is capable of.)
From here he could see the faces of the senators. There was true learning there, and a great sweep of understanding. But there was also a love of procedure and resistance to change.
“It’s easier to think when I’m not watched. And thinking’s what I care about.”
“But…I’m totally unprepared! I have no luggage with me, no nothing.” “None of us do. We none of us expected this. That is, in general, the nature of adventures. Adventurers tend to smell. The great epic tales stank, I think, more than the historians give them credit for.”
“You can’t knife-fight a kraken!” said Mal. “That may possibly be true. I’ve never tried. But I am about to.”
“Berserkers do not weep,” he said. “And they do not love. How could they, when they mustn’t fear? Love has fear baked into it.”
“For instance: consider the greatest riddle of all—what you should do with your one brief life? The answer is different for each person. There is no neat answer, though many have tried to offer one. There are no answers to being alive. There are only strong pieces of advice.”
“stop expecting life to get easier. It never does; that is not where its goodness lies. Or”—and she looked at Irian, at Nighthand—“do not wait for people to be faultless before you allow yourself to adore them. Adore them anyway. Such things are worth more than riddles.”
“Yes.” And then, because if he was going to be eaten, he did not want that to be the last thing he said, he added: “It’s not difficult to be frightening. It’s not a talent. Any idiot with a knife could be frightening.”
“But you’ll either help while knowing you’re loathed, for Nighthand’s sake, or not help at all. I won’t pretend that you’re forgiven. Your kind are excused so much, so often, so easily—a flash of money and all’s well. I won’t play that game. Nighthand wouldn’t want it.”
“I suppose it’s a kind of goodbye then.” “It’s not, Mal! You’ll still be you—and I’ll still be here. You said it yourself, didn’t you? You said, He’s a guardian.” He had not been clear, until this moment, what that meant: It meant this feeling. It meant burning to keep watch, for that which needed to be watched. It meant burning to keep it safe. It meant a ferocious and careful love.
“This is pointless, child. This is a little play you are putting on with no audience. Nobody will know whether or not you fought. Nobody will know, or care, what you did before you died. It’s worthless.” Christopher forced himself to speak. “It’s not,” he said. He was choking; he pushed the words through dry lips. “I’ll know.”
“But I have seen red dragons fly over mountains in the falling sun. And I have seen people offer up their lives to save one another, as if it were as natural as breathing. I’ve known lovers find each other in war and famine. I have seen promises made and kept for entire lifetimes, unswervingly, as if it was easy. I’ve seen lions at midnight. I have seen wonder on wonder on wonder. I have seen how the world shines. “I have seen people struggle to learn—painting, gardens, language, hand skills, foot skills—and I have seen them triumph. I have seen kindnesses large and wild enough to transform
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“Listen. I need you to tell people this; I need you, when you get back, to tell them: the brutality is terrible. And yes: the chaos is very great. But tell them: greater than the world’s chaos are its miracles.”
And so we do not weep for her but for ourselves; for the sadness that is the child of our love. We weep because we will not see her face again. We sing for the bravery of her glorious heart. We will eat grief for dinner; but tomorrow we will dine on joy for what she did.” The sphinx turned to the centaurs and raised her head. “Sound out, trumpets, for the flying girl.”
“That is why great power must never reside in only one person. It must be shared.” Her rough voice was rougher than before. “It must be spread, among as many good women and men as can be found; not because it is kind or polite or fair, but because it is the only way to beat back against horror.”
“To leave a scar. So you don’t ever ask yourself, Was it real? It was as real as you are, and you are very real.” He did not need the scar. His love for Mal had been the finest part of him—he knew that already. It had made him brave. It is what is meant by miracles. And though she was gone, the love burned on.
