Downfall of the Gods Read Online Free PDF

said, “on the far edge of the Great White Desert, at the place where the River of Lost Souls passes under the Bridge of Forgetfulness.” He gave me a blank look. “I’ll draw you a map.”
    “Which country is it in? Can we ride there, or do we need a ship? Are we at war with the people whose land we have to cross? Can I drink the water? Do I have to get a visa?”
    I told him where we were going. Forgive me if I leave out the specifics; classified. “At this time of year? I’ll freeze.”
    “Actually, the White Desert is the hottest place on Earth.”
    He’d gone pale. “This is going to be a logistical nightmare,” he said. “We’ll need wagons, mules, drivers, porters, a large armed escort—”
    I shook my head. “You can’t take anyone else with you,” I said. “Not other mortals, anyway.”
    “Why the hell not?”
    “They’re not the ones who need to redeem themselves. Only you.”
    “For pity’s sake, woman.” He realised what he’d said and glanced at me. I shrugged. “For pity’s sake,” he repeated. “In order to cross mountains, forests and deserts I’m going to need food and water, far more than I can carry. And a tent, and climbing gear, and an axe for firewood, and money, and weapons. Or are you going to magic all that out of thin air whenever I need it?”
    “In your dreams,” I said. “This is a penance, not a holiday.”
    “Why do I get the feeling you haven’t thought this through? I’ll need changes of clothing, spare boots, rope, accurate and detailed maps, a portable stove and cooking gear. Don’t just shake your head like that, I’m human. I need things.”
    “No,” I said. “You just think you do. All you actually need is for me to forgive you your terrible sin, because if I don’t you’re going to die. Everything else is just would-be-nice.”
    S OME PEOPLE JUST won’t listen. The rest of the day was incredibly dull. We had to go to see his bankers, so he could draw out money. Then we had a dreary trudge round the city while he tried on about ninety pairs of boots, ditto travelling cloaks, hats, thornproof leggings, ultra-lightweight oilskin trousers, whatever. The only points of interest for me were the gadgets he insisted on looking at; folding knives with six different blades and a spoon, collapsible tents that doubled as stoves and dog-sleighs, hats with button-down compartments for fish-hooks, flints and tinder. The ingenuity of it all; the idea that mortals can to some degree compensate for their lack of strength and endurance by the judicious use of things . Buy this hat or that four-in-one shovel/waterflask/boar-spear/walking-stick and you can hike your way up the pyramid of hierarchies until you’re practically a god. Poor darlings. If only it were possible.
    He kept it to the bare minimum (so he said) but by nightfall he was struggling along under a hundred and twenty pounds dead weight, and with every step he took he clanked like a dozen buckets. “Satisfied?” I asked him.
    “No.”
    “You should be. You’ve redistributed a considerable amount of wealth and provided for the families of hardworking artisans. And when you get sick of lugging all that junk around and dump it by the roadside, I expect the poor villagers who find it will be able to sell it for good money.”
    He stopped, and leaned against a wall. “Clarify something for me, please.”
    “Sure.”
    “If I die while trying to carry out this idiotic quest, will I escape eternal damnation?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know. For crying out loud—”
    “I hadn’t considered the point,” I said. “I mean, it’s hard to me to understand. I was sort of assuming that of course you’d make it there, because for me it’s a twominute stroll. But you mortals are so frail, you drop dead from the silliest things.”
    He was breathing hard through his nose. “Consider it now.”
    “Don’t rush me,” I said. “There are arguments on both sides. How dare you try and