The Broken God
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David Zindell. The Broken God
Copyright
Praise
Contents
CHAPTER ONE. Shaida
CHAPTER TWO. Danlo the Wild
CHAPTER THREE. The Glavering
CHAPTER FOUR. Shih
CHAPTER FIVE. The Returnists
CHAPTER SIX. The Culling
CHAPTER SEVEN. Perilous Hall
CHAPTER EIGHT. The Doctrine of Ahimsa
CHAPTER NINE. Multiplication by Zero
CHAPTER TEN. The Library
CHAPTER ELEVEN. The Moment of the Possible
CHAPTER TWELVE. The Master of Novices
CHAPTER THIRTEEN. In the College of the Lords
CHAPTER FOURTEEN. A Game of Hokkee
CHAPTER FIFTEEN. The Return of a Pilot
CHAPTER SIXTEEN. The Way of the Serpent
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. The Way of the Cetic
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. Kalla
CHAPTER NINETEEN. Dolls
CHAPTER TWENTY. A Conversation
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE. The Art of Odori
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO. The Fire Sermon
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE. The Pearl
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR. The Ceremony of Remembrance
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE. The Catava Fever
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX. The Gift
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN. A Piece of Ivory
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT. The Broken God
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE. Danlo Peacewise
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DAVID ZINDELL
The Broken God
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‘No, after the pain, there is terror. Sheer terror.’
He knew that Soli was trying to frighten him, so he smiled to hide his fear. The air inside the hut was steamy from the boiling tea and from their rhythmic exhalations; it was selura, wet cold – not as absolutely cold as white cold, but cold enough to lap at his skin like a thirsty seal and make him shiver slightly. He pulled himself down into his furs, trying to keep warm. All his life, from the older boys and young men, he had heard rumours about the passage into manhood. It was like dying, Choclo had once said, dying transcendently, ur-alashara; it was like going over, not to the other side of day, but going over oneself to find a new, mysterious world within. He thought about what it would be like to go over, and he tried to sleep, but he was too full of death and life, too full of himself. All at once, his whole body was shivering beyond his control. He had an overwhelming sense that his life, every day and night, would be supremely dangerous, as if he were walking a snowbridge over a crevasse. He felt wild and fey in anticipation of making this eternal crossing. And then, deep inside, a new knowledge sudden and profound: he loved the dark, wild part of himself as he loved life. Ti-miura halla, follow your love, follow your fate – wasn’t this the teaching of a hundred generations of his people? If he died during his passage, died to himself or died the real death of blood and pain, he would die in search of life, and he thought this must be the most halla thing a man could do.
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