Coldfire re-read: Crown of Shadows - chapters 14 and 15

[trobadora]

Apologies for the lateness - let's dive right in!

Plot summary

Chapter 14
Narilka visits the temple of her goddess for advice - she's not sure what to do about Andrys. Saris, Goddess of Beauty (who seems to be the sensible sort, as far as Iezu go), appears to her and warns her about what she's about to entangle herself in, and Narilka, being told it'll likely end badly, decides she's having none of that. Saris grants her protection from Calesta's illusions even though she seems to know Narilka will eventually stop worshipping her. (Narilka, of course, protests that she won't.)

Chapter 15
Damien dreams of the Unnamed and wakes up to the certainty that something's gone wrong with Tarrant. He breaks into Tarrant's room and finds Tarrant's been taken to Hell. Oops. Of course, what's Damien tp do but get him back? :D Since he needs help, he eventually ends up at Karril's. Karril tells him it can't be done - but like Narilka, Damien doesn't take no for an answer.

Quotes

• But today it was not art that drove her here, but need; need for the kind of reassurance that only a god could offer. Would Saris respond? She was a minor goddess, as such beings were measured, and her domain was a limited one. Was it right to bring these problems to her, when there were at least a dozen other gods dedicated to that kind of turmoil?


• She prayed. Not in words but in images, because words could never capture all that she felt. The Hunter in all his dark and terrible glory, with the music of the night surging up about him and a secret world so rich in beauty it was painful to behold. And Andrys Tarrant in his need. So wounded, so irresistible, so like the Hunter in outer aspect and utterly unlike him in spirit. She saw them take form in the smoke, and suddenly was unsure of herself. Why had she come here? What did she expect the goddess to do? She shivered and wrapped her arms about herself; the faces in the smoke faded and were gone.
  If I let myself love him, I'll lose myself forever. It was a thrilling, terrifying thought. Guide me, she begged. Not knowing who else or what else to turn to, not even sure that her goddess would listen. Help me!


• Andrys Tarrant is doomed.
  It took the words a moment to sink in, and then it was a few seconds more before she found her voice. "What?"
  He's fighting a war he does not understand, for stakes he cannot begin to comprehend. He has given himself to one who will use him and then discard him, taking pleasure from the destruction of so tender a soul. He is a pawn, Narilka Lessing, nothing more. A blind, unwitting soldier in a war of gods and demons. The figure paused. A sacrifice.


• How few mortals ever saw a god incarnate, much less were counseled by one?


• The bolt was a solid one, affixed in a steel chamber that was firmly attached to the wood. It wasn't going to come loose easily, not by virtue of any Working he knew how to do. Damn the Church, which had limited his training to the sorceries it approved of, making him helpless in the face of such a simple mechanism!


• As soon as the door was open, he moved into the dark apartment -
  - and malevolence swirled up about his legs with such force that he nearly crashed to his knees, cold fae invading his flesh with a power that made bile rise up in his gut, his stomach spasming as if it could vomit up this repulsive evil. Loathsome, unspeakably loathsome; it took all his self-control not to abandon his search and desperately try to find a Working that would scrub his flesh clean of the sickening power. Go ahead, the power seemed to urge, in a voice that stabbed like knives into his flesh. Try it. He could feel it sucking him down that path, toward that insane, doomed effort, and he knew in that moment that more than one living man had scrubbed his body raw in response to its presence, until skin and muscles both were abraded like cheap rope and even the hot blood which flowed freely was not enough to guarantee a cleansing.
  With a sinking heart he staggered toward the bedroom, and somehow gathered enough strength to call the Hunter's name. He no longer questioned what had happened here; the fae itself made it clear what type of creature had visited, and there was only one thing a creature like that would want.


• Got to find Tarrant, he thought. Got to. But even if he did, then what? Could he help him? Did he have the kind of power it took to stand up to a demon who left such malignance as its calling card?
  Have to try, he thought grimly. Not questioning his own motives, for once. Not asking himself whether it wouldn't be better to let the Hunter stew in Hell at last while the world went on in innocence, a better place for his absence. Because Damien needed him. The Church needed him. And therefore - though most didn't know it, and would probably deny it if asked - the very world that he had haunted so ruthlessly needed him.


• There was a circle delineated by the temple light, and Damien stood just beyond it. He could feel its presence before him almost as a physical barrier, and for a moment he lacked the courage to cross it. If the Patriarch knew of his search, if somehow he knew that a priest had come here ... well, his reaction wouldn't be a pretty one, that was sure. And it damned well might prove the last straw between them, one transgression too many for the Holy Father to tolerate.
  He was trying not to think about that. He was trying not to think about what he would do with himself if the Patriarch really did cast him out of the Church. Such considerations belonged to the future, and right now the future itself was in jeopardy. Would he want to remain a priest if he knew that the cost was the sacrifice of everything he believed in? Could he value the robes he wore and the ritual sword he carried if he knew that the price of maintaining them was the submission of this world to Calesta's hunger? And yet ... stepping into that circle of light was a commitment such as he had never made before, to a mode of operation he had hitherto rejected. Only sorcerers bargained with demons. Only the damned. Never the Church, whose very existence was dedicated to making such bargains impossible. Never, never one of the Church's priests.


• He looked at the intertwined couples, at the sweaty groups who sprawled on rugs and couches and wherever the inclination struck them, and thought, This is not worship. He watched an old man blissfully accepting a wad of gummy substance from a priest and stuffing it into his water pipe, and he thought, There is no god in this place. He walked stiffly through what seemed like chaos, dozens of men and women who had nothing in common but a hunger for immediate gratification, and he reminded himself, This is a Iezu they worship. They feed him with their lusts, and he gives them illusions of ecstasy. A simple contract, easily comprehended, readily fulfilled. It's really a wonder that men follow the One God at all, with such relationships available.


• "Given the Hunter's attitude toward women, I usually avoid the feminine in his presence. Too distracting. As for you ..." She glanced down at Damien's crotch, imperfectly curtained by the hem of his shirt, and smiled. "Perhaps as a good host I should make things more comfortable. ..."


• I've tried every Working I know, consulted everyone I dared. You would think with the channel between us, a Locating would be easy, but..." He shook his head. "Nothing, Karril. Nothing! What do I do? How do I find him? You're my only hope."


• A shudder seemed to pass through the demon's body. "That way is pain, and worse," he whispered. His voice was strained, barely audible. "Don't you understand? I couldn't endure it. Even if I wanted to, even if I were willing to risk her displeasure ... I'm not human. I can't absorb emotions which run counter to my aspect. No Iezu could survive such an assault."
  "So I'll masturbate for you," he said harshly. "Is that good enough? In the midst of Tarrant's nightmares I'll dream acts of pleasure, so you can stay on your feet. Hell, it worked for him, it should damn well work for you."

Thoughts

• Do you think Saris is a fitting goddess for Narilka?


• This chapter gives a bit of a glance into what it might be like to live in a world where gods are real and you can actually go talk to them, even if that's rare - both with Saris and with Karril aka Kami. Was it anything like how you imagined it? How do you think that would work on a larger scale?


• It's no secret that I remain unconvinced the relationship between Narilka and Andrys has any real depth. Even Narilka admits, here, that part of what draws her is his need. Not exactly the foundation of a true partnership, is it? So the passage about her "letting herself" fall in love with him and "losing herself forever" always seemed false to me. I could imagine someone losing themselves in the Hunter, for better or worse (well, most likely worse). But Andrys? - Any thoughts on that matter?


• Is it just me, or does Narilka's whole reaction to Saris's warning read like she's deciding to help Andrys more out of defiance against what she's told is his fate than anything actually having to do with him as a person? She seems like she's simply not fond of being told she can't do anything, and might have gone whichever way Saris told her was likely futile.


• What do you think about Saris's assessment of Andrys's role? Spot on, isn't it?


• There's an interesting tidbit about the limitations of Damien's training - and a strange one, to come out here in the middle of the third book. Has there been any hint of this before that I missed?


• Damien doesn't even hesitate - his immediate, instinctive reaction is to go and get Tarrant back. Because he needs him. (And everyone else needs him, too, but that's so clearly an afterthought ...) Could they get any more slashier? *g*


• Damien's visit to Karril's temple is very interesting, and shows clearly how far he's come since that first meeting with Karril where he'd rather have slain him than ask him for help, despite Karril's willingness to help them with Ciani's problem.


• And also, his thoughts about what he values more, the Church's rules (well-founded though they may be) or the fate of the world, always make me think of the Patriarch and what choice he would make. He seems utterly incapable of the necessary flexibility, doesn't he? And despite his willingness to sacrifice himself, much too enamoured with the letter as opposed to the spirit of the law ...


• Damien, deciding to take on the Unnamed for Tarrant's sake - well, and the world's, of course ... It's interesting, isn't it, that for the first time at all save for that time when he thought Tarrant had betrayed them, he seems truly desperate? Despite everything they've been up against. But this one thing he can't bear. So he's charging into Hell, even though he must know how unlikely it is that he'll accomplish anything there. What did you think of that plan, the first time you read it? (Besides "awwww, so slashy!", of course. *g*)

And on Thursday, we'll be continuing with chapters 16-18 ...

Comments

[prettyarbitrary.livejournal.com]

"If I let myself love him, I'll lose myself forever."

This seemed utterly overwrought to me. Nowhere do we see the kind of force of personality in Andrys that would indicate he could sweep a woman off her feet like that--unless in the sense of him desperately needing somebody to keep him in one piece. This passage also irritates me a bit, especially in light of how things resolve: are we supposed to care that Andrys is doomed? Are we supposed to care that the power of Narilka's determination saves him? Do we even see enough of Narilka to believe she has that kind of conviction in her?

What Saris says is in line with what we see and know of Andrys: he's a pawn, he's barely even self-motivated, he has no idea what he's gotten into and can't hope to have the chops to get himself out of it. So...where do these two views ever get reconciled, so that at the end it seems like either a victory or a loss that Tarrant dies at his hands, rather than a mindless stumbling accident?

[prettyarbitrary.livejournal.com]

That sounds like a lot of Andrys hate. I want to clarify that while I find the character a kind of fail!tacular person, that doesn't bother me per se. After all, some people are chumps, so some people in books should presumably be chumps too. I just...I really never could figure out what we were supposed to make of him.

Are we meant to like him? Hate him? Pity him? Cheer at the hope for his redemption? Or just view him as a mobile plot!rock? I don't know!

[trobadora]

I think he is a living plot device, and Friedman sort of fails at making us care about him as if he were a person. *g*

[trobadora]

Yes, overwrought, that's a good description. Ridiculously OTT.

I'm more than willing to believe Narikla has that kind of determination in her; I just remain utterly unconvinced that she'd have motivation to waste it on the likes of Andrys. *g*

I think you're putting your finger on my main problem with Andrys here - I never could get over the nagging feeling that we were supposed to sympathise with him and see his eventual triumph and reward as a good thing. And I just can't share that opinion at all.