The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (665 page)

The Daru stared at her, bemused.

She read his face:
But you just said
…

So I did, my young lover. We are contrary creatures, us humans, but that isn't something we need be afraid of, or even much troubled by. And if you make a list of those people who worship consistency, you'll find they're one and all tyrants or would-be tyrants. Ruling over thousands, or over a husband or a wife, or some cowering child. Never fear contradiction, Cutter, it is the very heart of diversity.

 

Chaur held on to the steering oar whilst Cutter and Barathol worked the sails. The day was bright, the wind fresh and the carrack rode the swells as if its very wood was alive. Every now and then the bow pitched down, raising spray, and Chaur would laugh, the sound child-like, a thing of pure joy.

Scillara settled down amidships, the sun on her face warm, not hot, and stretched out.

We sail a carrack named
Grief,
with a corpse on board. That Cutter means to deliver to its final place of rest. Heboric, did you know such loyalty could exist, there in your shadow?

Barathol moved past her at one point, and, as Chaur laughed once more, she saw an answering smile on his battered, scarified face.

Oh yes, it is indeed blessed music. So unexpected, and in its innocence, so needed
…

 

The return of certain mortal traits, Onrack the Broken realized, reminded one that life was far from perfect. Not that he had held many illusions in that regard. In truth, he held no illusions at all. About anything. Even so, some time passed – in something like a state of fugue – before Onrack recognized that what he was feeling was…
impatience
.

The enemy would come again. These caverns would echo with screams, with the clangour of weapons, with voices raised in rage. And Onrack would stand at Trull Sengar's side, and with him witness, in helpless fury, the death of still more of Minala's children.

Of course,
children
was a term that no longer fit. Had they been Imass, they would have survived the ordeal of the passage into adulthood by now. They would be taking mates, leading hunting parties, and joining their voices to the night songs of the clan, when the darkness returned to remind them all that death waited, there at the end of life's path.

Lying with lovers also belonged to night, and that made sense, for it was in the midst of true darkness that the first fire of life was born, flickering awake to drive back the unchanging absence of light. To lie with a lover was to celebrate the creation of fire.
From this in the flesh to the world beyond.

Here, in the chasm, night reigned eternal, and there was no fire in the soul, no heat of lovemaking. There was only the promise of death.

And Onrack was impatient with that. There was no glory in waiting for oblivion. No, in an existence bound with true meaning and purpose, oblivion should ever arrive unexpected, unanticipated and unseen. One moment racing full tilt, the next, gone.

As a T'lan Imass of Logros, Onrack had known the terrible cost borne in wars of attrition. The spirit exhausted beyond reason, with no salvation awaiting it, only more of the same. The kin falling to the wayside, shattered and motionless, eyes fixed on some skewed vista – a scene to be watched for eternity, the minute changes measuring the centuries of indifference. Some timid creature scampering through, a plant's exuberant green pushing up from the earth after a rain, birds pecking at seeds, insects building empires…

Trull Sengar came to his side where Onrack stood guarding the choke-point. ‘Monok Ochem says the Edur's presence has…contracted, away from us. For now. As if something made my kin retreat. I feel, my friend, that we have been granted a reprieve – one that is not welcome. I don't know how much longer I can fight.'

‘When you can no longer fight in truth, Trull Sengar, the failure will cease to matter.'

‘I did not think they would defy her, you know, but now, I see that it makes sense. She expected them to just abandon this, leaving the handful remaining here to their fate. Our fate, I mean.' He shrugged. ‘Panek was not surprised.'

‘The other children look to him,' Onrack said. ‘They would not abandon him. Nor their mothers.'

‘And, in staying, they will break the hearts of us all.'

‘Yes.'

The Tiste Edur looked over. ‘Have you come to regret the awakening of emotions within you, Onrack?'

‘This awakening serves to remind me, Trull Sengar.'

‘Of what?'

‘Of why I am called “The Broken”.'

‘As broken as the rest of us.'

‘Not Monok Ochem, nor Ibra Gholan.'

‘No, not them.'

‘Trull Sengar, when the attackers come, I would you know – I intend to leave your side.'

‘Indeed?'

‘Yes. I intend to challenge their leader. To slay him or be destroyed in the attempt. Perhaps, if I can deliver a truly frightful cost, they will reconsider their alliance with the Crippled God. At the very least, they may withdraw and not return for a long time.'

‘I understand.' Trull then smiled in the gloom. ‘I will miss your presence at my side in those final moments, my friend.'

‘Should I succeed in what I intend, Trull Sengar, I shall return to your side.'

‘Then you had better be quick killing that leader.'

‘Such is my intention.'

‘Onrack, I hear something new in your voice.'

‘Yes.'

‘What does it mean?'

‘It means, Trull Sengar, that Onrack the Broken, in discovering impatience, has discovered something else.'

‘What?'

‘This: I am done with defending the indefensible. I am done with witnessing the fall of friends. In the battle to come, you shall see in me something terrible. Something neither Ibra Gholan nor Monok Ochem can achieve. Trull Sengar, you shall see a T'lan Imass, awakened to
anger
.'

 

Banaschar opened the door, wavered for a moment, leaning with one hand against the frame, then staggered into his decrepit room. The rank smell of sweat and unclean bedding, stale food left on the small table beneath the barred window. He paused, considering whether or not to light the lantern – but the oil was low and he'd forgotten to buy more. He rubbed at the bristle on his chin, more vigorously than normal since it seemed his face had gone numb.

A creak from the chair against the far wall, six paces distant. Banaschar froze in place, seeking to pierce the darkness. ‘Who's there?' he demanded.

‘There are few things in this world,' said the figure seated in the chair, ‘more pathetic than a once-Demidrek fallen into such disrepair, Banaschar. Stumbling drunk into this vermin-filled hovel every night – why are you here?'

Banaschar stepped to his right and sank heavily onto the cot. ‘I don't know who you are,' he said, ‘so I see no reason to answer you.'

A sigh, then, ‘You send, one after another for a while there, cryptic messages. Pleading, with increasing desperation, to meet with the Imperial High Mage.'

‘Then you must realize,' Banaschar said, struggling to force sobriety into his thoughts – the terror was helping – ‘that the matter concerns only devotees of D'rek—'

‘A description that no longer fits either you or Tayschrenn.'

‘There are things,' Banaschar said, ‘that cannot be left behind. Tayschrenn knows this, as much as I—'

‘Actually, the Imperial High Mage knows nothing.' A pause, accompanying a gesture that Banaschar interpreted as the man studying his fingernails, and something in his tone changed. ‘Not yet, that is. Perhaps not at all. You see, Banaschar, the decision is mine.'

‘Who are you?'

‘You are not ready yet to know that.'

‘Why are you intercepting my missives to Tayschrenn?'

‘Well, to be precise, I have said no such thing.'

Banaschar frowned. ‘You just said the decision was yours.'

‘Yes I did. That decision centres on whether I remain inactive in this matter, as I have been thus far, or – given sufficient cause – I elect to, um, intervene.'

‘Then who is blocking my efforts?'

‘You must understand, Banaschar, Tayschrenn is the Imperial High Mage first and foremost. Whatever else he once was is now irrelevant—'

‘No, it isn't. Not given what I have discovered—'

‘Tell me.'

‘No.'

‘Better yet, Banaschar, convince me.'

‘I cannot,' he replied, hands clutching the grimy bedding to either side.

‘An imperial matter?'

‘No.'

‘Well, that is a start. As you said, then, the subject pertains to once-followers of D'rek. A subject, one presumes, related to the succession of mysterious deaths within the cult of the Worm. Succession? More like slaughter, yes? Tell me, is there
anyone
left? Anyone at all?'

Banaschar said nothing.

‘Except, of course,' the stranger added, ‘those few who have, at some time in the past and for whatever reasons, fallen away from the cult. From worship.'

‘You know too much of this,' Banaschar said. He should never have stayed in this room. He should have been finding different hovels every night. He hadn't thought there'd be anyone, anyone left, who'd remember him. After all, those who might have were now all dead.
And I know why. Gods below, how I wish I didn't.

‘Tayschrenn,' said the man after a moment, ‘is being isolated. Thoroughly and most efficiently. In my professional standing, I admit to considerable admiration, in fact. Alas, in that same capacity, I am also experiencing considerable
alarm
.'

‘You are a Claw.'

‘Very good – at least some intelligence is sifting through that drunken haze, Banaschar. Yes, my name is Pearl.'

‘How did you find me?'

‘Does that make a difference?'

‘It does. To me, it does, Pearl.'

Another sigh and a wave of one hand. ‘Oh, I was bored. I followed someone, who, it turned out, was keeping track of you – with whom you spoke, where you went, you know, the usual things required.'

‘Required? For what?'

‘Why, preparatory, I imagine, to assassination, when that killer's master deems it expedient.'

Banaschar was suddenly shivering, the sweat cold and clammy beneath his clothes. ‘There is nothing political,' he whispered, ‘nothing that has anything to do with the empire. There is no reason—'

‘Oh, but you have made it so, Banaschar. Do you forget? Tayschrenn is being isolated. You are seeking to break that, to awaken the Imperial High Mage—'

‘Why is he permitting it?' Banaschar demanded. ‘He's no fool—'

A soft laugh. ‘Oh no, Tayschrenn is no fool. And in that, you may well have your answer.'

Banaschar blinked in the gloom. ‘I must meet with him, Pearl.'

‘You have not yet convinced me.'

A long silence, in which Banaschar closed his eyes, then placed his hands over them, as if that would achieve some kind of absolution. But only words could do that. Words, uttered now, to this man. Oh, how he wanted to believe it would…suffice.
A Claw, who would be my ally. Why? Because the Claw has…rivals. A new organization that has deemed it expedient to raise impenetrable walls around the Imperial High Mage. What does that reveal of that new organization? They see Tayschrenn as an enemy, or they would so exclude him as to make his inaction desirable, even to himself. They know he knows, and wait to see if he finally objects. But he has not yet done so, leading them to believe that he might not – during whatever is coming. Abyss take me, what are we dealing with here?

Banaschar spoke from behind his hands. ‘I would ask you something, Pearl.'

‘Very well.'

‘Consider the most grand of schemes,' he said. ‘Consider time measured in millennia. Consider the ageing faces of gods, goddesses, beliefs and civilizations…'

‘Go on. What is it you would ask?'

Still he hesitated. Then he slowly lowered his hands, and looked across, to that grey, ghostly face opposite him. ‘Which is the greater crime, Pearl, a god betraying its followers, or its followers betraying their god? Followers who then choose to commit atrocities in that god's name. Which, Pearl? Tell me, please.'

The Claw was silent for a dozen heartbeats, then he shrugged. ‘You ask a man without faith, Banaschar.'

‘Who better to judge?'

‘Gods betray their followers all the time, as far as I can tell. Every unanswered prayer, every unmet plea for salvation. The very things that define faith, I might add.'

‘Failure, silence and indifference? These are the definitions of faith, Pearl?'

‘As I said, I am not the man for this discussion.'

‘But are those things true
betrayal
?'

‘That depends, I suppose. On whether the god worshipped is, by virtue of being worshipped, in turn beholden to the worshipper. If that god isn't – if there is no moral compact – then your answer is “no”, it's not betrayal.'

‘To whom – for whom – does a god act?' Banaschar asked.

‘If we proceed on the aforementioned assertion, the god acts and answers only to him or herself.'

‘After all,' Banaschar said, his voice rasping as he leaned forward, ‘
who are we to judge?
'

‘As you say.'

‘Yes.'

‘If,' Pearl said, ‘on the other hand, a moral compact does exist between god and worshipper, then each and every denial represents a betrayal—'

‘Assuming that which is asked of that god is in itself bound to a certain morality.'

‘True. A husband praying his wife dies in some terrible accident so that he can marry his mistress, for example, is hardly something any self-respecting god would acquiesce to, or assist in.'