Beyond (The Founding of Valdemar, #1)

by Mercedes Lackey

“Help them through, whenever you can,”

“I couldn’t really feel happy until I accepted what I’m made of, so now I play to it. My truth is that I’m opportunistic, I’m a little deceptive, and I love picking out the value hidden in what others ignore. I can’t seem to turn it off.”

well, they are all powerful people who spend their lives trying to amass more power, and when you do that, you start to look at anything as a tool, no matter how filthy.”

Not enough of us get to tell those who had a hand in building us just how we feel about our pasts, while they’re still alive. It wounds the heart, but makes us more whole whenever we can, though. This physical world isn’t all there is, but while we have it, this is the one that counts. The words should be spoken.

“I’ll never be ready,” someone finally said, breaking the silence. “But I’ll be able.”

In our efforts to avoid not-being, we have submerged our aspirations of what we could be.”

When anyone is preoccupied only with staying alive, it is damned near impossible to embrace the fact that a better future is even possible. That’s why poverty is a form of suppression—it keeps the people without power from thinking too big.

“Nah, I’m here to help,” said Ivar, coming over the hill behind them. “Strong like mule, dumb like ox, hitch to plow when horse dies.”

“I know who I am, I’m just happy to find out I was right! There was tragedy just a little while ago, and my head hurts, but I went from being a servant to being an adventurer, like a hero in nearly fifty songs I know, and a few I don’t dare sing for anyone else. Also, I like how you talk, you are very pretty, and you scare me in some ways I think I like.”

Humans given no incentive to do more . . . generally will not.” And as he and Star turned to use the Doll Gate back to his quarters, it occurred to him that the amount of truth in that last statement had probably been enough to feed the Dolls in the Hall of Records for a week.

Kordas knew well that however tragic an origin, or however brilliantly joyful, such events were only incubation organs for the person who emerged from them. Some terrible people could be redeemed if they weren’t too far gone. Some kind people could turn hate-filled and cruel. Some liars became the most honest, loyal friends possible. Or not. It really was up to them. Some saw the benefits of empathy and helpfulness, and gained the ecstasy of validation by love. Others, not so much, and just a few more weaponized their pasts. Whatever their origin story, an asshole was an asshole.

Or maybe he’s just a stupid, miserable excuse for a pile of shit on two legs who wants to be the cancer he is. I think I like that answer the best. Anything else makes me examine him, and examine myself, and look for pity for him, and that opens up last-moment “but he can change” redemption as an idea, and that’s just stupid. Expose your heart and a viper laughs after it strikes you dead. He’s had decades to change, with every expert available to him, and he chose bloody tyranny. I don’t want to pity him. I just want to be as far away from him as I can get. Let him die.

“When a ruler gives up on empathy and sentiment, it is a sign of desperation. It means they’re paring away emotion in favor of efficiency and numbers and a twisted fantasy of a better life without the joys and burdens of caring about something outside of themselves. Contempt for kindness and generosity is the surest sign there is that someone has nothing else left to them but a horrible emptiness much worse than weakness. It’s an—anti-strength. And the dying monster plods along, unaware it’s rotting.”

“Do what you can, do everything that you can, do it to the best of your ability, and leave the rest to fate. Or