26 July 2015

The Wanderer

Sticky feet 
Or sticky ground.
I cannot see.
I try to reason.
I need reason on my side.

I cannot see, of course.
It is dark. And cold.
No option to stop and check.
The darkness is such a place.
You keep walking. 
Or you don't get to.

I pray. That my feet be sticky.
Though I know where I am.
Exactly where I am.
I know the ground 
that sticks to one's feet.
It was a myth. Was.
Not anymore.
I've heard about it.
I've read about it.

I look around. Nonchalantly.
I keep walking.
I see darkness. All around me.
What else do you see,
when you walk in the dark?
And yet, there! A glint.
One more. And one more!
To my left, behind me.
Darker than dark.
That shine the dark alone possesses.
A shrine to the One we don't speak of.

I pray I see two of them. Or four.
Yet three there were.
As was written.
Three giant sections,
shining examples of the night -
each much wider than a house.
each much taller than our city gates.
The gates of Azzen.
Each with the unchanging glint
That consumed darkness
and perfectly reflected it.
It was an impossibility. Was.
The rumours were true then.

Three there were!
Three they were.
I counted again.
My last count. Three.
I drop my prayers.
The ground is stickier.
As is its nature.
I was one slip away
from joining the darkness.
For eons, if not forever.

One mistake away. Just one.
That is all they wait for.
Three there were,
the eyes of the Spider.
The ever attentive, ever focussed
black eyes of the Lord himself.
Focussed on me.

Far removed from logic,
My brethren would say.
Yet here he was.
Lord Spider, Warrior of Darkness.
And I'd wandered into his web.


Inspired by this line in the first Malazan book, 'Gardens of the Moon' by Steven Erikson.

"Somewhere in this strange place
a spider waits
for my panicked flight ..."