Ron Sami > Quotes

“Uhhh . . . How could he believe that the cause of their investigation was alleged fornication? The insatiable old man already sculls with a single paddle on the funeral longboat but craves power like a youth king.”
― Ron Sami, The Cradle

“The Round Market was going through tumultuous years. It was old, and as Gonat caught in his ear, it had originated during the Muddy Epoch. Once lively and crowded with shops in a huge circle, the market now shrank to a few trading cubbyholes, located out of the square — as God commanded it. Between them, under clay shacks, and often just side by side, the urban poor lived. The market has had no walls or entrances for a long time. The prefect’s guards had tried to put things in order here, demolishing the shacks, setting up benches in proper order, and resettling the guilty merchants from the Boastful Market. For some time, the market held on, but it was inhabited by so many muddle-headed people and thieves that everything had returned to its former chaos.”
― Ron Sami, The Cradle

“The shepherds had talked about us, and you decided to sponge,” Kasar reasoned, not asked. “You wanted to rob, but you didn’t think about your death at all. Go ahead and kill him, prince,” he suddenly suggested, looking as if evaluating Yves.
Yves looked at the victim, recalled how a couple of years ago his brother took him to the slaughterhouse; there he had to slaughter pigs and sheep under the supervision of butchers and Guluui. He put his palms on his sides and said, “Uh . . . No.”
“Do it!”
Yves felt a treacherous chill. Something would change if he obeyed . . . “I don’t want to. I don’t kill unarmed people.”
― Ron Sami, The Cradle

“Barley porridge was boiling on the black calescent stones. The owner of the trashy tavern was cutting the end of an old stinky tallow on the stone slab and threw the pieces into a small cup. Seeing the guest, the host put the knife down and wiped his hands on the apron.
“What are you selling?”
“Pins, needles. From the best master of the Cradle.”
“How much is this shit?”
This was one rude prune. With crumbs in his beard, a torn nose, and red cheeks that the Gift could, in its turn, cut the fat from. A terrifying thought flew through his mind. What if he is a pig werewolf? The one that lives next to relatives and devours them! Eyes, what bulging eyes — evil and lackluster.”
― Ron Sami, The Cradle

“Two blades cut the air in the place where Guluui had stood a moment earlier. Eran could have bent forward and stabbed him on the hip that slipped in front of the shield, but his brother was no more agile than the turtle. If he had pricked Guluui, he would have been not the younger, but the elder brother, because Taigon would never have missed such chance. Instead of lunge, Eran turned inward, following Guluui, then briefly covered him from both the mercenaries. He waved his sword uncertainly, intending to slash along his left shoulder, but Guluui had already shortened the distance, shut partially with a sword, and pricked Eran under the gardbrace with a stylet.
The brer was ready. His blood began to drip on the indifferent sand.”
― Ron Sami, The Cradle

“Yves gathered courage deep inside himself as he rode all the way to the ancestral long-ruined Matasagaris family seat. Would he be able to turn away from his father — to change the preordained will of God? Would he risk staying and living, just living, instead of commencing the fatal and dangerous Journey? All this for the sake of love that could come to every person, every commoner, but to him — the Prince of Maurirta, love was inaccessible before. He closed his eyes and recalled Miela, the way her silky, light-brown hair danced over her shoulders, the flutter of her velvety lashes, and he knew no peace.”
― Ron Sami, The Cradle