The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen

by Steven Erikson

  ‘To fight,’ finished Skwish.

  ‘But…’ they deserve better.

  ‘Go down t’the Shore, Highness. Een you tain’t above the First Shore.’

  Yan Tovis grimaced. ‘You think to force me, Pully? Skwish?’

  ‘If yer brother—’

  ‘Hadn’t killed all your allies,’ Yan Tovis said, nodding. ‘Yes. Oddly enough, I don’t think he fully comprehended the consequences. Did he? A hundred and more witches and warlocks…yes, they could compel me, perhaps. But you two? No.’

  ‘Is a mistake, Highness.’

  ‘Didn’t stop you feeding on my blood, did it? Made young again, and now you roll like sluts in every man’s tent.’

  ‘Een Witchslayer says—’

  ‘Yes, you all say. “Kneel, O Queen.” “Surrender to the Shore, sister.” You know, the only person here who comes close to understanding me isn’t even human. And what did I do? I destroyed the friendship growing between us by forcing her on to the Throne of Dark. I fear she will never forgive me.’ Yan Tovis gestured suddenly. ‘Both of you, leave me now.’

  ‘As witches we got to warn yee—’

  ‘And so you have, Pully. Now go, before I call Yedan up here to finish what he started all those months ago.’

  She listened to their footfalls in the sand, and then through the grasses.

  Below, on the Shore, Captain Pithy was departing, moving off to the left, probably making her way to the Letherii encampment. Her brother remained, though now he began walking the length of the strand. Like a caged cat.

  But remember, dear brother. The Hust sword broke.

  She lifted her gaze, studied the hissing storm of light, high above the blurred shapes of Liosan warriors. She was not sure, but at times lately she’d thought she’d seen vast shapes wheeling up there.

  Clouds. Thunderheads.

  Rightness was a vicious word. Is it right to demand this of us? Is it right to invite us in one breath and threaten us in the next? Am I not queen of the Shake? Are these not my subjects? You would I simply give them to you? Their blood, their lives?

  Errant’s nudge, how I envy Sandalath Drukorlat, the Queen with no subjects.

  The liquid sky of Lightfall was a thick, opaque swirl. No thunderheads today. Seeing that should have relieved her, but it didn’t.

  Upon the Great Spire overlooking Kolanse Bay, five Pures ascended the steep stairs carved into the crater’s ravaged flank. To their right, as they climbed towards the Altar of Judgement, the slope fell away to a sheer cliff, and far below the seas thrashed, the waters raging into foaming spume the colour of mare’s milk. Centuries of pounding fury had gnawed into the Spire, down to its very roots, apart from a narrow, treacherous isthmus on the inland side.

  From above, foul winds bled down, pulled towards the waves in endless streams. At times Shriven had been poisoned in their pilgrimage, here on the weathered pumice steps, but the Pures could withstand such vicissitudes, and when they passed the shrivelled corpses huddled against the stairs they simply stepped over them.

  The Pure who was named Reverence led the way. She was Eldest among those who remained in close proximity to the Great Spire. Tall even for a Forkrul Assail, she was exceedingly gaunt, almost skeletal. Thousands of years upon this world had turned her once white skin a sickly grey, worn through to bruised tones around her joints, including those of her double-hinged jaw and the vertical epiphysis that bisected her face from chin to forehead. One eye had been blinded centuries past in a battle with a Jaghut, a tusk slash as they struggled to tear out each other’s throat, and the ferocity of that bite had dented the bones of the socket, collapsing the brow ridge on that side.

  She favoured her right leg, as the effort of the ascent shot lancing pain through her left hip. A T’lan Imass sword-thrust had very nearly disembowelled her on another rise of stone steps, on a distant continent and long, long ago. Even as the flint weapon stabbed into her, she had torn the warrior’s head from its shoulders. The demands of adjudication are not for the weak, she would say from time to time, whispered as something akin to a mantra, tempering true once more the iron of her will.

  Yes, the climb had been a long one, for them all, but soon the summit would heave into view, pure and bristling, and the final death-blows would be delivered. Judgement upon humanity. Judgement upon this broken, wounded world. We shall cleanse. It is not what we chose for ourselves. This burden in truth does not belong to us, but who will stand to defend this world? Who but the Forkrul Assail can destroy all the humans in this realm? Who but the Forkrul Assail can slay their venal gods?

  The oldest justice of all is the justice of the possible. Hunter and prey, death or escape, to feed or to starve. Each plays to what is possible and the victims strive to answer their needs, and that is all there is. All there ever need be.

  I remember grasses in the wind. I remember skies filling with birds from horizon to horizon. I remember weeping at the silence in the years that followed, when these furtive killers edged out into the world and killed all they could. When they walked ancient shorelines and thrust their greed like bone knives into new lands.

  We watched. We grieved. We grew into the iron of anger, and then rage. And now. Now, we are cold and certain. There will be death.

  Steady breaths behind her, a source of strength, succour for her will to complete this climb, to push away the aches, the labours of a body as battered as the earth itself. She could remember the day peace was declared dead. The day the Forkrul Assail stood tall, for the first time, and saw before them the future, and the necessity they must answer.

  Since then…so many unanticipated allies.

  Above, seven steps away, the edge of the altar, the platform’s white quartzite glistening in the thin light. Drawing upon her strength for this last effort, she pushed herself upward. And then, at last, she stepped on to the windswept expanse. The Altar of Judgement, white as freshly fallen snow, the carved sunburst of blood channels leading out from the centre, cut deep, shadowed into darkness.

  Reverence strode forward, loosening her thick cloak as the heat bloomed up and out from the crater’s mouth surrounding the Spire, rank with sulphurs. Behind her, the four other Pures spread out, finding their own paths to the centre-stone.

  Her lone eye fell to that blackened, rotted abomination, the boulder that was – or, perhaps, encased – the heart of an alien god. She could see no rise and fall from its mottled form, yet to set hand upon it was to feel its stubborn life. The sky tore him apart. Flung across half the world the flaming debris that was his body, and pieces fell and fell, upon one continent and then another. Into the shocked seas. Ah, if there had been more. If there had been enough to annihilate every human on this world, not just the ones whose hubris was so brazen, whose madness reached across the Abyss, to take this wretched thing.

  Soon, they would pierce the centre-stone, the Heart, and that alien god’s blood would flow, and the power would…feed us. With that power they could fully open the gate of Akhrast Korvalain; they could unleash the cleansing storm, and it would sweep the world. Drown on your hubris, humans. It is all you deserve. Indeed, it would finish what the Summoners in their insanity had begun.

  You chain what you can use. As the gods have done to him. But when its usefulness is at an end…what then? Do you simply kill? Or do you squeeze the last possible drop of blood from the carcass? Fill your belly?

  Is there a use for endless pain? Let us see, shall we?

  ‘Sister Reverence.’

  She turned, studied the younger woman facing her. In the few paces between them there was a gulf so vast there was no hope of ever spanning it. ‘Sister Calm.’

  ‘If we are to hear naught but reports on the disposition of our armies, Sister, was there need for this ascent?’

  ‘“Need.” Now that is an interesting word, is it not?’

  Calm’s eyes remained flat, unwilling to rise. ‘The siege belabours us, Sister. The Watered who command are insufficient to the task.’
>
  ‘Whom do you suggest we send, Sister Calm?’

  ‘Brother Diligence.’

  Ah, next to me in seniority. My closest ally. Of course. She turned to the slope-shouldered man standing nearest the Heart. ‘Brother Diligence?’

  He glanced over, his pale eyes cold as the seas behind him. ‘I will break the defenders, Sister Reverence. None there can hope to stand against me.’

  ‘It remains an option,’ murmured Reverence.

  Again, Calm did not react.

  Reverence looked to the others. ‘Brother Abide?’

  ‘It is known where blood soaks the sands,’ the Mystic said, ‘that other forces are arraying against us. Beyond the Glass Desert.’

  ‘We have other armies,’ said Calm. ‘Enough to meet and defeat each one.’

  ‘Sister Calm is correct,’ added Sister Equity. ‘Brother Diligence can destroy the humans who by treachery gained the North Keep, and indeed he can return in time for us to meet the new threats from the west.’

  ‘But only if we do not linger too long in reaching a decision,’ said Calm.

  And so it divides. ‘Brother Diligence?’

  ‘The risk remains,’ the warrior said, ‘that we have underestimated the commander of those invaders. After all, they appeared as if from nowhere, and their successes to date have been…impressive.’

  ‘From nowhere, yes,’ muttered Brother Abide. ‘Cause for dismay. A warren? Most certainly. But to guide an entire army through? Sister Calm and Sister Equity, we cannot discount the possibility of those in the keep simply leaving the way they came, should matters prove too precipitous. In which case, when and where will they reappear?’

  ‘A valid point,’ said Diligence. ‘For as long as they are held in place, they are no threat to us.’

  ‘Even so,’ countered Calm, ‘your presence and command of our besieging army will ensure that you can respond to anything unexpected. There will come a time – there must come a time – when it is expedient to drive them from the keep and, if possible, annihilate them.’

  ‘Indeed there will,’ agreed Reverence. ‘But as Brother Abide has noted before, we are not yet certain that we have accounted for all the threats assembling against us.’ She gestured. ‘The Great Spire, the Altar of Judgement, this is where we remain the most vulnerable. Diligence in command of the Spire Army ensures the Spire and the Heart hold inviolate.’ She paused, fixed her single eye upon Sister Calm. ‘Our remaining Pures command the outlying armies inland. Do you suggest that, in the end, they shall prove unequal to the task? Sister Belie? Sister Freedom? Brothers Grave, Serenity and Aloft? Which of them falters in your regard?’

  Calm glanced away. ‘I hold that it is best to eliminate each threat as it arises, Sister Reverence.’

  Reverence frowned. ‘And should the enemy in the keep vanish as mysteriously as it arrived? Only to, perhaps, reappear here, at the very foot of the Great Spire? With Brother Diligence stranded at the far end of Estobanse Valley? What then?’ she asked. Yes, best we argue here, alone, beyond the hearing of our Watered and Shriven servants. She resumed, this time taking in all the others. ‘All of Kolanse has been cleansed – how could we have done otherwise, when, upon reaching these shores, we witnessed the terrible damage done to this land? Estobanse remains, because for the moment we require that it do so. To feed the Shriven and Watered. When the Heart is sacrificed upon this altar, brothers and sisters, even our need for human armies will be at an end. The end of the human world begins here – we must protect this place above all others, even Estobanse. Do any of you deny this?’

  Silence.

  Reverence met Calm’s gaze. ‘Sister Calm, in the name of your ancestors, patience.’ At that there was finally a response. Calm’s face tightened, and she rocked as if struck. Satisfied, Reverence blithely continued. ‘All that is required is in motion, even as we speak. There will be rain before the storm. There must be. I ask that you set out once more, upon the dead lands, that you be our eyes so set as to forewarn us should any threat emerge from an unexpected quarter.’ She gestured. ‘Indeed, take Sister Equity with you.’

  ‘Sound tactic,’ said Brother Diligence, with a dry smile.

  Calm bowed stiffly. ‘As you wish, Sister Reverence.’

  Catching something avid in the younger woman’s eyes, Reverence frowned, suddenly uneasy. Ah, have I been anticipated here? Have I stepped blind into a trap? You wish to be sent out into the Wastes, Calm. Why? What am I unleashing?

  ‘Our disposition, Sister Reverence?’

  Curious, she nodded. ‘As you desire.’

  ‘Sister Equity shall take the south lands, then, while I journey into the west.’

  Again? And what did you do there the first time out? What did you find? ‘Very well,’ Reverence said. ‘Now, we stand upon the Altar of Judgement, once more united in our endeavours. With humility—’

  ‘Blessed Pures!’

  The shout came from the edge of the stairs, and they turned to see Watered Amiss, his face flame-flashed with exertion. They had left him at the Third Landing, against the eastern flank of the Spire.

  Reverence strode towards him. ‘Brother, what word do you bring us with such haste?’

  He stumbled on to the altar and pointed to the east. ‘Blessed Pures! In the harbour – ships! Many, many ships!’

  Reverence noted the alarm and consternation in the faces of her kin, and felt a surge of satisfaction. Yes, unseen threats assail you all now. ‘Brother Diligence, assemble the Defenders and awaken our warren in the Watered sub-commanders. Akhrast Korvalain shall be our bristling wall this day.’ And Sister Reverence? Ah, well, perhaps she will be the Gate.

  Calm and Equity had rushed to the eastern edge of the altar. Both stared for a moment before Equity turned round. ‘Ships of war, kin. Grey as wolves upon the water.’

  ‘Shall we descend and greet them?’ Reverence asked.

  Brother Diligence’s smile was cruel and hard.

  He knelt in the midst of Chaos. Pressures descended upon him, seeking to crack his bones. Torrid winds clawed at him, hungry to shred his soul. But he had walked here of his own accord. In his heart, such savage challenge as to face down the Abyss itself.

  All is not bound to fate. It must not be.

  All is not carved in stone, buried deep and for ever beyond mortal sight.

  There must be more. In all the worlds, the solid laws are a prison – and I will see us freed!

  He had met Chaos with fury in his being, a bristling armour of rage proof against all it flung at him. He had walked into the maelstrom seas of madness, and held tight to his own sanity. And then, at last, he had stood, unbowed, alone, and argued against the universe itself. The laws that were lies, the proofs that were false. Stone a hand could pass through. Water that could be breathed. Air as impenetrable as a wall. Fire to quench the deadliest thirst. Light that blinded, darkness that revealed. The beast within that was the heart of dignity, the sentient self that was purest savagery. In life the secret codes of death. In death the seeds of life.

  He had spoken with the elemental forces of nature. Argued without relent. He had defended his right to an existence torn loose from these dread, unknowable horrors.

  For his efforts, the blind uncertainty of Chaos had besieged him. How long? Centuries? Millennia? Now he knelt, battered, his armour shattered, wounds bleeding. And still it assailed him, sought to tear him apart.

  The fissure that erupted from him first emerged from the centre of his head, a blast of argent fire in which he heard manic laughter. With terrible ripping sounds, the rent worked its way down his body, unfolding his throat, peeling back each side. His breastbone cracked in two, ribs bursting free. His stomach opened, spilling bitter fluids.

  Then there was nothing. For how long, he never knew. When cognizance returned to him, he was standing where he had stood before, and before him two naked figures knelt, heads bowed. A man, a woman.

  My children, born of anguish and need. My ever facile twins. My wretche
d faces of freedom. Chaos answers with its most delicious joke. Pull and prod, you godlings, you will never know what I lost in making you, this vicious bargain with uncertainty.

  I will give you worlds. Yet not one shall be your home. You are cursed to wander through them, trapped in your eternal games. Lord and Lady of Chance. In the language of the Azathanai, Oponn.

  My children, you shall never forgive me. Nor do I deserve forgiveness. The laws are not what they seem. Order is an illusion. It hides its lies in your very eyes, deceiving all they see. Because to see is to change that which is seen.

  No, none of us will ever see true. We cannot. It is impossible. I give you a life without answers, my children. Walk the realms, spread the word in your illimitable way, Oponn. Some will welcome you. Others will not. And that, dear ones, is the joke on them. And on us.

  I had a thought.

  Now see what it made.

  ‘Is this senility?’

  The cavern shed its fluids, an incessant trickle and drizzle. The air stank of pain.

  Sechul Lath glanced over. ‘You spoke, Errastas?’

  ‘You were far away. Memories haunting you, Setch?’

  They sat on boulders, the two of them, the plumes of their breaths drifting like smoke. From somewhere in the cavern’s depths came the sound of rushing water.

  ‘Hardly. After all, as you are ever quick to point out, I am a man of modest achievements.’

  ‘Not a man. A god. Making your pathetic deeds even more embarrassing.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sechul Lath agreed, nodding. ‘I have many regrets.’

  ‘Only fools know regret,’ Errastas said, only to undermine his assertion as he unconsciously reached up towards his gaping eye socket. The brush of his fingers, the flinch of muscles in his cheek.

  Hiding a smile, Sechul Lath looked away.

  Kilmandaros still sat hunched, almost folded over, in the dripping blood rain of the Otataral Dragon. When exhaustion took her, the period of recovery could be long, interminably so in the eyes of the Errant. Even worse, she was not yet done with this. Lifting his gaze, Sechul Lath studied the dragon, Korabas. She is the one law amidst the chaos of the Eleint. She is the denial of their power. She is the will set free. It’s not enough to bleed her. She needs to die.