Karsa slid down from Havok, paused to stretch out his back. He had been thinking much of late, mostly about his people, the proud, naive Teblor. The ever-tightening siege that was the rest of the world, a place of cynicism, a place where virtually every shadow was painted in cruelty, in countless variations on the same colourless hue. Did he truly want to lead his people into such a world? Even to deliver a most poetic summation to all these affairs of civilization?
He had seen, after all, the poison of such immersion, when observing the Tiste Edur in the city of Letheras. Conquerors wandering bewildered, lost, made useless by success. An emperor who could not rule even himself. And the Crippled God had wanted Karsa to take up that sword. With such a weapon in his hands, he would lead his warriors down from the mountains, to bring to an end all things. To become the living embodiment of the suffering the Fallen One so cherished.
He had not even been tempted. Again and again, in their disjointed concourse, the Crippled God had revealed his lack of understanding when it came to Karsa Orlong. He made his every gift to Karsa an invitation to be broken in some fashion.
Of course, Karsa understood all about being stubborn. He also knew how such a trait could be fashioned into worthy armour, while at other times it did little more than reveal a consummate stupidity. Now, he wanted to reshape the world, and he knew it would resist him, yet he would hold to his desire. Samar Dev would call that ‘stubborn’, and in saying that she would mean ‘stupid’. Like the Crippled God, the witch did not truly understand Karsa.
On the other hand, he understood her very well. ‘You will not ride with me,’ he said now as she rested against one of the stones, ‘because you see it as a kind of surrender. If you must rush down this torrent, you will decide your own pace, as best you can.’
‘Is that how it is?’ she asked.
‘Isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I don’t know anything. I had some long forgotten god of war track me down. Why? What meaning was I supposed to take from that?’
‘You are a witch. You awaken spirits. They scent you as easily as you do them.’
‘What of it?’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’ she demanded.
‘Why, Samar Dev, did you choose to become a witch?’
‘That’s — oh, what difference does that make?’
He waited.
‘I was. . curious. Besides, once you see that the world is filled with forces — most of which few people ever see, or even think about — then how can you not want to explore? Tracing all the patterns, discovering the webs of existence — it’s no different from building a mechanism, the pleasure in working things out.’
He grunted. ‘So you were curious. Tell me, when you speak with spirits, when you summon them and they come to you without coercion — why do you think they do that? Because, like you, they are curious.’
She crossed her arms. ‘You’re saying I’m trying to find significance in something that was actually pretty much meaningless. The bear sniffed me out and came for a closer look.’
He shrugged. ‘These things happen.’
‘I’m not convinced.’
‘Yes,’ he smiled, ‘you are truly of this world, Samar Dev.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He turned back to Havok and stroked the beast’s dusty neck. ‘The Tiste Edur failed. They were not thorough enough. They left the cynicism in place, and thought that through the strength of their own honour, they could defeat it. But the cynicism made their honour a hollow thing.’ He glanced back at her. ‘What was once a strength became an affectation.’
