The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (663 page)

 

Brother and sister stood at the prow, wrapped against the chill, and watched as stars filled the darkness of the north sky. Creaking cordage, the strain of sails canted over as the ship made yet another tack. Westward, a ridge of mountains blacker than the heavens marked the Olphara Peninsula.

The sister broke the long silence between them. ‘It should have been impossible.'

Her brother snorted, then said, ‘It was. That's the whole point.'

‘Tavore won't get what she wants.'

‘I know.'

‘She's used to that.'

‘She's had to deal with us, yes.'

‘You know, Nil, he saved us all.'

A nod, unseen beneath the heavy hood of Wickan wool.

‘Especially Quick Ben.'

‘Agreed. So,' Nil continued, ‘we are also agreed that it is a good thing he is with us.'

‘I suppose,' Nether replied.

‘You're only sounding like that because you like him, sister. Like him the way a woman likes a man.'

‘Don't be an idiot. It's those dreams…and what she does…'

Nil snorted again. ‘Quickens your breath, does it? That animal hand, gripping him hard—'

‘Enough! That's not what I meant. It's just…yes, it's a good thing he's with this army. But her, with him, well, I'm not so sure.'

‘You're jealous, you mean.'

‘Brother, I grow weary of this childish teasing. There's something, well, compulsive about it, the way she uses him.'

‘All right, on that I would agree. But for you and me, sister, there is one vital question remaining. The Eres'al has taken an interest. She follows us like a jackal.'

‘Not us.
Him
.'

‘Exactly. And that is at the heart of the question here. Do we tell her? Do we tell the Adjunct?'

‘Tell her what? That some wet-crotched soldier in Fiddler's squad is more important to her and her army than Quick Ben, Kalam and Apsalar all put together? Listen, we wait until we discover what the High Mage tells the Adjunct – about what just happened.'

‘Meaning, if he says little, or even claims complete ignorance—'

‘Or takes credit and struts around like a First Hero – that's when we decide on our answer, Nil.'

‘All right.'

They were silent then for a dozen heartbeats, until Nil said, ‘You shouldn't worry overmuch, Nether. A half-woman half-animal all covered in smelly fur isn't much competition for his heart, I'd imagine.'

‘But it wasn't my hand—' Abruptly, she shut up, then offered up a most ferocious string of Wickan curses.

In the dark, Nil was smiling. Thankful, nonetheless, that his sister could not see it.

 

Marines crowded the hold, sprawled or curled up beneath blankets, so many bodies Apsalar was made uneasy, as if she'd found herself in a soldier barrow. Drawing her own coverings to one side, she rose. Two lanterns swung from timbers, their wicks low. The air was growing foul. She clasped on her cloak and made her way towards the hatch.

Climbing free, she stepped onto the mid deck. The night air was bitter cold but blissfully fresh in her lungs. She saw two figures at the prow. Nil and Nether. So turned instead and ascended to the stern castle, only to find yet another figure, leaning on the stern rail. A soldier, short, squat, his head left bare despite the icy wind. Bald, with a fringe of long, grey, ratty strands that whipped about in the frigid blasts. She did not recognize the man.

Apsalar hesitated, then, shrugging, walked over. His head turned when she reached the rail at his side. ‘You invite illness, soldier,' she said. ‘At the least, draw up your hood.'

The old man grunted, said nothing.

‘I am named Apsalar.'

‘So you want my name back, do you? But if I do that, then it ends. Just silence. It's always that way.'

She looked down on the churning wake twisting away from the ship's stern. Phosphorescence lit the foam. ‘I am a stranger to the Fourteenth Army,' she said.

‘Doubt it'll make a difference,' he said. ‘What I did ain't no secret to nobody.'

‘I have but recently returned to Seven Cities.' She paused, then said, ‘In any case, you are not alone with the burden of things you once did.'

He glanced over again. ‘You're too young to be haunted by your past.'

‘And you, soldier, are too old to care so much about your own.'

He barked a laugh, returned his attention to the sea.

To the east clouds skidded from the face of the moon, yet the light cast down was muted, dull.

‘Look at that,' he said. ‘I got good eyes, but that moon's nothing but a blur. Not the haze of cloud, neither. It's a distant world, ain't it? Another realm, with other armies crawling around in the fog, killing each other, draggin' children into the streets, red swords flashing down over'n over. And I bet they look up every now and then, wonderin' at all the dust they kicked up, makin' it hard to see that other world overhead.'

‘When I was a child,' Apsalar said, ‘I believed that there were cities there, but no wars. Just beautiful gardens, and the flowers were ever in bloom, every season, day and night, filling the air with wondrous scents…you know, I told all of that to someone, once. He later said to me that he fell in love with me that night. With that story. He was young, you see.'

‘And now he's just that emptiness in your eyes, Apsalar.'

She flinched. ‘If you are going to make observations like that, I will know your name.'

‘But that would ruin it. Everything. Right now, I'm just me, just a soldier like all the others. You find out who I am and it all falls apart.' He grimaced, then spat down into the sea. ‘Very well. Nothing ever lasts, not even ignorance. My name's Squint.'

‘I hate to puncture your ego – as tortured as it is – but no vast revelation follows your name.'

‘Do you lie? No, I see you don't. Well, never expected that, Apsalar.'

‘Nothing changes, then, does it? You know nothing of me and I know nothing of you.'

‘I'd forgotten what that was like. That young man, what happened to him?'

‘I don't know. I left him.'

‘You didn't love him?'

She sighed. ‘Squint, it's complicated. I've hinted at my own past. The truth is, I loved him too much to see him fall so far into my life, into what I was – and still am. He deserves better.'

‘You damned fool, woman. Look at me. I'm alone. Once, I wasn't in no hurry to change that. And then, one day I woke up, and it was too late. Now, alone gives me my only peace, but it ain't a pleasant peace. You two loved each other – any idea how rare and precious that is? You broke yourself and broke him too, I'd think. Listen to me – go find him, Apsalar. Find him and hold onto him – now whose ego tortures itself, eh? There you are, thinking that change can only go one way.'

Her heart was thudding hard. She was unable to speak, every counter argument, every refutation seeming to melt away. Sweat cooled on her skin.

Squint turned away. ‘Gods below, a real conversation. All edges and life…I'd forgotten. I'm going below – my head's gone numb.' He paused. ‘Don't suppose you'd ever care to talk again? Just Squint and Apsalar, who ain't got nothing in common except what they don't know about each other.'

She managed a nod, and said, ‘I would…welcome that, Squint.'

‘Good.'

She listened to his footsteps dwindle behind her.
Poor man. He did the right thing taking Coltaine's life, but he's the only one who can't live with that.

 

Climbing down into the hold, Squint stopped for a moment, hands on the rope rails to either side of the steep steps. He could have said more, he knew, but he had no idea he'd slice so easily through her defences. That vulnerability was…unexpected.

You'd think, wouldn't you, that someone who'd been possessed by a god would be tougher than that.

‘Apsalar.'

She knew the voice and so did not turn. ‘Hello, Cotillion.'

The god moved up to lean against the rail at her side. ‘It was not easy to find you.'

‘I am surprised. I am doing as you ask, after all.'

‘Into the heart of the Malazan Empire. That detail was not something we had anticipated.'

‘Victims do not stand still, awaiting the knife. Even unsuspecting, they are capable of changing everything.'

He said nothing for a time, and Apsalar could feel a renewal of tension within her. In the muted moonlight his face looked tired, and in his eyes as he looked at her, something febrile.

‘Apsalar, I was…complacent—'

‘Cotillion, you are many things, but complacency is not one of them.'

‘Careless, then. Something has happened – it is difficult to piece together. As if the necessary details have been flung into a muddy pool, and I have been able to do little more than grope, half-blind and not even certain what it is I am looking for.'

‘Cutter.'

He nodded. ‘There was an attack. An ambush, I think – even the memories held in the ground, where the blood spilled, were all fragmented – I could read so little.'

What has happened?
She wanted to ask that question. Now, cutting through his slow, cautious approach –
not caution – he is hedging
—

‘A small settlement is near the scene – they were the ones who cleaned things up.'

‘He is dead.'

‘I don't know – there were no bodies, except for horses. One grave, but it had been opened and the occupant exhumed – no, I don't why anyone would do that. In any case, I have lost contact with Cutter, and that more than anything else is what disturbs me.'

‘Lost contact,' she repeated dully. ‘Then he is dead, Cotillion.'

‘I honestly do not know. There are two things, however, of which I am certain. Do you wish to hear them?'

‘Are they relevant?'

‘That is for you to decide.'

‘Very well.'

‘One of the women, Scillara—'

‘Yes.'

‘She gave birth – she survived to do that at least, and the child is now in the care of the villagers.'

‘That is good. What else?'

‘Heboric Light Touch is dead.'

She turned at that – but away from him – staring out over the seas, to that distant, murky moon. ‘Ghost Hands.'

‘Yes. The power – the aura – of that old man – it burned like green fire, it had the wild rage of Treach. It was unmistakable, undeniable—'

‘And now it is gone.'

‘Yes.'

‘There was another woman, a young girl.'

‘Yes. We wanted her, Shadowthrone and I. As it turns out, I know she lives, and indeed she appears to be precisely where we wanted her to be, with one crucial difference—'

‘It is not you and Shadowthrone who control her.'

‘Guide, not control – we would not have presumed control, Apsalar. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of her new master. The Crippled God.' He hesitated, then said, ‘Felisin Younger is Sha'ik Reborn.'

Apsalar nodded. ‘Like a sword that kills its maker…there are cycles to justice.'

‘Justice? Abyss below, Apsalar, justice is nowhere to be seen in any of this.'

‘Isn't it?' She faced him again. ‘I sent Cutter away, because I feared he would die if he stayed with me. I sent him away and that is what killed him. You sought to use Felisin Younger, and now she finds herself a pawn in
another
god's hand. Treach wanted a Destriant to lead his followers into war, but Heboric is killed in the middle of nowhere, having achieved nothing. Like a tiger cub getting its skull crushed – all that potential, that possibility, gone. Tell me, Cotillion, what task did you set Cutter in that company?'

He did not answer.

‘You charged him to protect Felisin Younger, didn't you? And he failed. Is he alive? For his own sake, perhaps it is best that he is not.'

‘You cannot mean that, Apsalar.'

She closed her eyes.
No, I do not mean that. Gods, what am I to do…with this pain? What am I to do?

Cotillion slowly reached up, his hand – the black leather glove removed – nearing the side of her face. She felt his finger brush her cheek, felt the cold thread that was all that was left of the tear he wiped away. A tear she had not known was there.

‘You are frozen,' he said in a soft voice.

She nodded, then shook her head suddenly as everything crumbled inside – and she was in his arms, weeping uncontrollably.

And the god spoke, ‘I'll find him, Apsalar. I swear it. I'll find the truth.'

Truths, yes. One after another, one boulder settling down, then another. And another. Blotting out the light, darkness closing in, grit and sand sifting down, a solid silence when the last one is in place. Now, dear fool, try drawing a breath. A single breath.