Torrent stared at her, and then, slipping treacherously on the icy ground, he collected up his bow and quiver. ‘They slid,’ he said. ‘They panicked – went down the slope. Down on to the ice – I couldn’t reach them—’
‘You fool!’
When she ran towards the ice field, Torrent followed.
The frozen blood lacerated his face as the wind howled up from the bay. One forearm held up to shield his eyes, he stumbled after Olar Ethil.
You will give him more? Is that what all this was about? You love him? You took his life and made him a thing of skin and bones – you stole his children away – maybe even killed his wife, their mother. You did all this – thinking you could win his heart?
But he had seen her – enough of her, anyway. Reborn, made young, she was not displeasing to the eye, solid, full-breasted and wide-hipped, her hair – before the blood soaked it – so blonde it was almost white, her eyes the colour of a winter sky. No longer undead. So too, then, Onos Toolan? Now reborn? She took everything away from him, and would now replace it with herself – with the world she would make.
Toc Anaster, did you know this? Did you understand her reasons for all that she has done?
Does it matter?
He reached the ice – she was still ahead, fleet as a hare as she danced her way down the broken, jagged slope. He thought he could hear her, crying out for the children.
Fissures were opening up as the field’s own weight began to crush the ice, and the descent was growing ever steeper – off to his right he could see one part of it still climbing as if would reach to the very summit of the Spire itself. Was there a speck there, halfway up that ramp of ice? Someone ascending? He could not be sure.
His feet went out from under him and he slid, rebounding from spars of rock-hard ice. In a blur he was past Olar Ethil, hearing her shout of surprise. His head struck something, spinning him round, and then his feet jammed against a hard edge that suddenly gave way. He was thrown forward, the upper half of his body pitching hard, as what felt like jaws closed on the lower half – snapping shut on his hips and legs.
He heard and felt both thigh bones snap.
Torrent screamed. Trapped in a fissure, the edges now rising above his hips as he sank deeper. He could feel blood streaming down, could feel it freezing.
He had lost grip on his bow and the hide quiver – they lay just beyond his reach.
Olar Ethil was suddenly there, standing almost above him. ‘I heard bones break – is it true? Is it true, pup?’ She reached down and took a handful of hair, twisting his torn face around. ‘Is it? Are you useless to me now?’
‘No, listen – I thought I heard them – the children. Absi – I thought I heard him crying.’
‘Where? Point – you can still do that. Where?’
‘Pull me out, witch, and I’ll show you.’
‘Can you walk?’
‘Of course I can, woman – I’m simply jammed in this crack. Pull me out – we can find them! But quickly – this entire field is shattering!’
She cackled. ‘Omtose Phellack in all its glory – yet who dares face it? A Bonecaster, that is who! I will destroy it. Even now, I am destroying it – that fool thinks he will take that wretched heart? I will defy him! He deserves no less – he is Jaghut!’
‘Pull me free, witch.’
She reached down.
Her strength was immense, and he could feel frozen blood splitting, could feel massive sections of skin and flesh torn away as she lifted and dragged him out from the fissure.
‘Liar! You lied!’
Torrent lay on his back. The red sleet was diminishing now – he could see the Jade Strangers and the sun itself. From below his hips he could feel nothing. Frozen. Bloodless. I haven’t got long.
‘Where are they?’
He forced himself on to one elbow, pointed off to the right and slightly downslope. ‘There, behind that rise – stand atop it, witch, and you may see them.’
‘That is all I need from you – now you can die, pup. Did I not say you would?’
‘You did, Olar Ethil.’
Laughing, she set off for the rise of hard-packed snow and ice. Twenty-five, maybe thirty paces away.
Torrent twisted round, dragged himself closer to his bow. ‘I promised,’ he whispered. Half-numb fingers closed about the bow’s shaft. He scrabbled one-handed for the quiver, drew out a stone-tipped arrow. Rolling on to his back, he lay gasping for a moment. It was getting hard – hard to do anything.
Ice squealed and then cracked and he slid half a pace – back towards that fissure, but now it was wider – now it could take all of him.
Torrent forced the nock’s slitted mouth round the gut-string.
She was almost there, tackling the ragged side of the rise.
He used his elbows and shoulders to push himself up against a heap of rubbled ice. Brought the bow round and drew the arrow back. This is impossible. I’m lying all wrong. She’s too far away! Wretched panic gripped him. He struggled to calm his breath, deafened by the pounding of his own heart.
Olar Ethil scrambled on to the rise, straightened and stared downslope.
He saw her fists clench, half-heard her howl of fury.
Squinting, his muscles starting to tremble, he stared at her shoulders – waiting, waiting – and when he saw them pivot, he released.
I will make him pay for the lies! Olar Ethil, eldest among all the Bonecasters and now reborn, spun round towards Torrent—
The arrow caught her in the left eye.
The stone tip tore through the eyeball, punched through the back of the socket, where the bone was thin as skin, and the spinning chipped-stone point drilled a gory tunnel through her brain, before shattering against the inside of the back of her skull.
He saw her head snap back, saw the shaft protruding from her face, and by the way her body fell – collapsing like a sack of bones – he knew that she was dead – killed instantly. Gasping, he sagged back. Did you see that, Toc? Did you see that shot?
Ah, gods. It’s done, brother.
It’s done. I am Torrent, last warrior of the Awl.
When he slid towards the fissure, he was helpless to resist.
Torrent. Last warrior of the …
Stormy bellowed in agony as Gesler dragged him away. The red-haired Falari had been stabbed through his right thigh. But the blood was slow, gushing only when the muscles moved, telling Gesler that the fool wouldn’t bleed out before he got him away.
The Ve’Gath were all drawing back – and back …
Because she’s coming. Because she’s finally joining this fight.
Gods help us all.
Pulling Stormy on to the blood-soaked embankment of the third trench, he looked back upslope.
She was walking alone towards the massed Kolansii. Little more than a child, stick-thin, looking undernourished. Pathetic.
When Gesler saw her raise her hands, he flinched.
With a terrible roar a wall of fire engulfed the highest trench. Scalding winds erupted in savage gusts, rolling back down the slope – Gesler saw the corpses nearest the girl crisp black, limbs suddenly pulling, curling inward in the heat’s bitter womb.
And then Sinn began walking, and, as she did so, she marched the wall of fire ahead of her.
Kalyth stumbled to her knees beside Gesler. ‘You must call her back! She can’t just burn them all alive!’
Gesler sagged back. ‘It’s too late, Kalyth. There’s no stopping her now.’
Kalyth screamed – a raw, breaking sound, her hands up at her face – but even she could not tear her eyes from the scene.
The fire devoured the army crouched against the base of the Spire. Bodies simply exploded, blood boiling. Thousands of soldiers burst into flames, their flesh melting. Everything within the fire blackened, began crumbling away. And still the firestorm raged.
Gunth Mach was crouched down over Stormy, oil streaming from her clawed hands and sealing the wound on his leg, but he was a
lready pushing those hands away. ‘Gesler – we got to reach those stairs—’
‘I know,’ he said. Through fire. Well, of course it has to be us.
‘She won’t stop,’ Stormy said, pushing himself to his feet, swaying like a drunk. ‘She’ll take it for herself – all that power.’
‘I know, Stormy! I know, damn you!’ Gesler forced himself to his feet. He squinted inland. ‘Gods below – what is that?’
‘A ghost army,’ Kalyth said. ‘The Matron says they simply came down from the sky.’
‘Send the Ve’Gath that way – all of them, Kalyth! Do you understand – you need to get them as far away from this as possible. If Sinn reaches the heart, that fire’s likely to consume the whole fucking land for leagues around!’
She pulled at him. ‘Then you can do nothing. Don’t you see – you can’t—’
Gesler took her face in his hands and kissed her hard on the lips. ‘Teach these lizards, Kalyth, only the best in us humans. Only the best.’ He turned to Stormy. ‘All right, let’s go. Forget any weapons – they’ll get too hot in our hands. We can tear off this armour on the way.’
‘Stop ordering me around!’
Side by side, the two old marines set out.
They climbed across greasy bodies, over ground that steamed, and through air hot as the breath of a smithy’s forge.
‘Can’t believe you, Ges,’ gasped Stormy. ‘You called on Fener!’
‘I wasn’t the only one, Stormy! I heard you—’
‘Not me – must’ve been someone else. You called him and someone fucking killed him! Gesler, you went and killed our god!’
‘Go to Hood,’ Gesler growled. ‘Who crossed his finger bones when he swore off that cult? Wasn’t that you? I think it was.’
‘You told me you did the same!’
‘Right, so let’s just forget it – we both killed Fener, all right?’
Five more strides and there could be no more words – every breath scalded, and the leathers they now wore as their only clothing had begun to blacken. Now it’s going to get bad.
But this is Telas. I can feel it – we’ve been through this before. He looked for Sinn, but could not see her anywhere. Walked out of the flames at Y’Ghatan. Walked into them here. It’s her world in there, it always was. But we knew that, didn’t we?
I swear I can hear her laughing.
The two men pushed forward.
Kalyth cried out when Gesler and Stormy vanished into the flames. She did not understand. She had looked on in disbelief as they had stepped over bodies reduced to black ash – she had seen their tunics catch fire.
‘Matron – what gift is this? What power do they possess?’
‘Destriant, this surpasses me. But it is now clear to me – as it is to all of us – that you chose most wisely. If we could, we would follow these two humans into the firestorm itself. If we could, we would follow them to the edge of the very Abyss. You ask what manner of men are these – Destriant, I was about to ask this very same question of you.’
She shook her head, shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know. Malazans.’
The flames drove him back. And this was a source of fury and anguish. He tried again and again, but his beloved master was beyond his reach. Howling, he raced back and forth along the third berm, the foul stench of his own burnt hair acrid in his nostrils.
And then he saw the pup – the one of tangled hair and piercing voice, the pup that never grew up – running towards the cold, towards the frozen sea.
Had the pup found a way round this burning air?
The Wickan cattledog with the scarred face tore off in pursuit.
There would be a way round – he would find his master again. To fight at his side. There was, for Bent, no other reason to exist.
The base around the Spire had been reduced to scorched bedrock – not a scrap of armour remained, nothing but molten streaks of iron tracking the slopes of the blackened stone.
Yet Gesler and Stormy walked through the conflagration. Their leathers had melted on to their bodies, hard and brittle as eggshells, and as the two marines pushed closer to the stairs the clothing’s remnants cracked, made crazed patterns like a snake’s shedding skin.
Gesler could see the stairs – but she wasn’t there. His gaze tracked upward. Shit. She was already a quarter of the way up. He punched at Stormy’s shoulder and pointed.
They reached the base, set foot on the baked, crumbling stone.
Stormy edged into Gesler’s path and began gesturing – the hand language of the marines. ‘Leave her to me – I’ll slow her up, hold her back, whatever. You go past. You go fast as you can – get to the top.’
‘Listen – this was almost too much, even for us. She’ll cook you down to bones—’
‘Never mind that. I’ll hold her back – just don’t fuck up up there, Ges! Throw the hag off the edge. Get that damned heart!’
Gesler’s legs ached with every step – he was too tired for this. A whole day of fighting. The strain of command. The seemingly endless slaughter. By the time he reached the top – assuming they even got past Sinn – he’d have nothing left. Weaponless, face to face with a damned Forkrul Assail.
Sinn had not looked back down, not once. She had no idea she was being pursued. Her steps were measured, relentless but slow, almost casual.
They had all climbed above the flames, which had at last begun dying below them.
The girl would hold it back now – saving it for the Forkrul Assail. Telas to wage war against the Assail’s warren. Old old shit, all of this. Can’t they all just go away? Back into their forgotten graves. It’s not right, us having to fight in wars we didn’t even start – wars that have been going on for so long they don’t mean a thing any more.
You took a foreign god’s wounded heart. I see the blood on your lips. It’s not right. It just isn’t.
Adjunct. I know you ain’t dead. Well, no, I don’t. But I refuse to believe you failed. I don’t think there’s a thing in this world that can stop you. We’ll do our part. You’ll know that much – you’ll know it.
Make this right. Make it all right.
Stormy was one step up from Gesler. He saw his friend reaching out, saw his hand close about Sinn’s ankle.
And then, visibly snarling, Stormy tore her from the stairs, swung her out into the air behind him, and let go.
Gesler saw her plummet – saw her mouth open wide in shock, and then that visage darkened.
Now you got her mad, Stormy.
But he was reaching now for Gesler, grasping his arm and lifting him past. ‘Go, Gesler! Climb your sorry arse off!’
A push that almost sent Gesler sprawling against the steps, but he recovered, and pulled himself upward, leaving Stormy in his wake.
Don’t look down – don’t look at him, Gesler. You know why – don’t— Instead he paused, twisted round, met his friend’s eyes.
Their gazes locked.
And then Stormy nodded, and flashed a half-mad smile.
Gesler made a rude gesture, and then, before his heart could shatter, he turned back to the stone steps and resumed his ascent.
Hood pulled himself over a splintered ridge of ice and looked up once more. Not far now. The ice road was groaning, cracks spreading like lightning. He had felt the assault of Olar Ethil – her hatred of Omtose Phellack unleashing power that raked through him sharp as talons – and then it had vanished, and he knew that she was dead. But the damage had been done. There was the very real chance that he would not make it, that this spar of ice would shatter beneath him, sending him down to his death.
Death. Now, that was an interesting notion. One that, perhaps, he should have been more familiar with than any other being, but the truth was, he knew nothing about it at all. The Jaghut went to war against death. So many met that notion with disbelief, or confusion. They could not understand. Who is the enemy? The enemy is surrender. Where is the battlefield? In the heart of despair. How is victory won? It lies within reach.
All you need do is choose to recognize it. Failing that, you can always cheat. Which is what I did.
How did I defeat death?
By taking its throne.
And now the blood of a dying god had gifted him with mortal flesh – with a return to mortality. Unexpected. Possibly unwelcome. Potentially … fatal. But then, who has a choice in these matters?
Ah, yes, I did.
A rumble of laughter from deep in his chest followed the thought. He resumed his climb.
Ahead was a broad fissure cutting diagonally across his path. He would have to jump it. Dangerous and undignified. His moment of humour fell away.
He could sense the nearby unleashing of Telas – could see how the air around the Spire was grey with smoke, and the stench of burnt flesh swept over him on an errant gust of wind from inland. This is not by the hand of an Imass. This is something … new. Foul with madness.
This could defeat us all.
He reached the fissure, threw himself over its span. His chest struck the edge, the impact almost winding him, and he clawed handholds in the rotted ice beyond. And then waited for a moment, recovering, before dragging himself from the crevasse. As he cleared it a solid shape flashed past on his left, landed with a crunch, claws digging into the crusted snow – a dog.
A dog?
He stared at it as it scrabbled yet higher, running like a fiend from the Abyss.
From behind him, on the other side of the fissure, Hood heard furious barking, and looking back he saw another dog – or, rather, some shrunken, hair-snarled mockery of a dog, rushing up to the edge only to pull back.
Don’t even try—
And then, with a launching leap, the horrid creature was sailing through the air.
Not far enough—
Hood cursed as jaws clamped on his left foot, the teeth punching through the rotted leathers of his boot. Hissing in pain he swung his leg round, kicked to shake off the snarling creature. He caught a blurred glimpse of its horrid face – like a rat that had been slammed headfirst into a wall – as it shot past him, on the trail of the bigger animal.