The Malazan Empire, page 419
‘It said you were dangerous.’
He was silent for some time. Then, ‘Ah, you are to kill me once I have vanquished the other entombed creatures?’
‘The tower is dead,’ Kettle said. ‘I don’t have to do anything it told me. Do I?’ She looked up and found him studying her.
‘What path will you choose, child?’
She smiled. ‘Your path. Unless you’re bad. I’ll be very angry if you’re bad.’
‘I am pleased, Kettle. Best that you stay close to me assuming we succeed in what we must do.’
‘I understand. You may have to destroy me.’
‘Yes. If I can.’
She gestured with her free hand at the heap of bones. ‘I don’t think you’ll have much trouble.’
‘Let us hope it doesn’t come to that. Let us hope the soul within you does not entirely awaken.’
‘It won’t. That’s why none of this matters.’
‘What makes you so certain, Kettle?’
‘The tower told me.’
‘It did? What did it say to you? Try to recall its exact words.’
‘It never spoke with words. It just showed me things. My body, all wrapped up. People were crying. But I could see through the gauze. I’d woken up. I was seeing everything with two sets of eyes. It was very strange. One set behind the wrappings, the other standing nearby.’
‘What else did the Azath show you?’
‘Those eyes from the outside. There were five others. We were just standing in the street, watching the family carrying the body. My body. Six of us. We’d walked a long way because of the dreams. We’d been in the city for weeks, waiting for the Azath to choose someone. But I wasn’t the same as the five others, though we were here for the same reason, and we’d travelled together. They were Nerek witches, and they’d prepared me. The me on the outside, and the me all wrapped up.’
‘The you on the outside, Kettle, were you a child?’
‘Oh no. I was tall. Not as tall as you. And I had to wear my hood up, so no-one could see how different I was. I’d come from very far away. I’d walked, when I was young, hot sands—the sands that covered the First Empire. Whatever that is.’
‘What did the Nerek witches call you? Had you a name?’
‘No.’
‘A title?’
She shrugged. ‘I’d forgotten all this. They called me the Nameless One. Is this important?’
‘I think it is, Kettle. Although I am not sure in what way. Much of this realm remains unknown to me. It was very young when I was imprisoned. You are certain this “Nameless One” was an actual title? Not just something the Nerek used because they didn’t know your true name?’
‘It was a title. They said I’d been prepared from birth. That I was a true child of Eres. And that I was the answer to the Seventh Closure, because I had the blood of kin. “The blood of kin”. What did they mean by that?’
‘When I am finally free,’ he said in a voice revealing strain, ‘I will be able to physically touch you, Kettle. My fingers upon your brow. And then I will have your answer.’
‘I guess this Eres was my real mother.’
‘Yes.’
‘And soon you will know who my father is.’
‘I will know his blood, yes. At the very least.’
‘I wonder if he’s still alive.’
‘Knowing how Eres plays the game, lass, he might not even be your father yet. She wanders time, Kettle, in a manner no-one else can even understand, much less emulate. And this is very much her world. She is the fire that never dies.’ He paused, then said, ‘She will choose—or has chosen—with great deliberation. Your father was, is, or will be someone of great importance.’
‘So how many souls are in me?’
‘Two, sharing the flesh and bone of a child corpse. Lass, we shall have to find a way to get you out of that body, eventually.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you deserve something better.’
‘I want to go back. Will you take me back now?’
‘I’ve given up on the eel itself,’ Bugg said, ladling out the soup. ‘It’s still too tough.’
‘None the less, my dear manservant, it smells wonderful.’
‘That would be the wine. Courtesy of Chief Investigator Rucket, whose request for a meeting with you was for purposes not entirely professional.’
‘And how did you fare on my behalf?’
‘I ensured that her interest in you only deepened, master.’
‘By way of contrast?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Well, is that a good thing? I mean, she’s rather frightening.’
‘You don’t know the half of it. Even so, she is exceptionally clever.’
‘Oh, I don’t like that at all, Bugg. You know, I am tasting something fishy. A hint, anyway. Just how dried up was this eel you found?’
The manservant probed with his ladle and lifted the mentioned object into view. Black, wrinkled and not nearly as limp as it should have been.
Tehol leaned closer and studied it for a moment. ‘Bugg…’
‘Yes, master?’
‘That’s the sole of a sandal.’
‘It is? Oh. I was wondering why it was flatter at one end than the other.’
Tehol settled back and took another sip. ‘Still fishy, though. One might assume the wearer, being in the fish market, stepped on an eel, before the loss of his or her sole.’
‘I am mildly disturbed by the thought of what else he or she might have stepped in.’
‘There are indeed complexities on the palate, suggesting a varied and lengthy history. Now, how was your day and the subsequent evening?’
‘Uneventful. Rucket informs me that Gerun Eberict has killed about three thousand citizens this year.’
‘Three thousand? That seems somewhat excessive.’
‘I thought so, too, master. More soup?’
‘Yes, thank you. So, what is his problem, do you think?’
‘Gerun’s? A taste for blood, I’d wager.’
‘As simple as that? How egregious. We’ll have to do something about it, I think.’
‘And how was your day and evening, master?’
‘Busy. Exhausting, even.’
‘You were on the roof?’
‘Yes, mostly. Although, as I recall, I came down here once. Can’t remember why. Or, rather, I couldn’t at the time, so I went back up.’
Bugg tilted his head. ‘Someone’s approaching our door.’
The sound of boots in the alley, the faint whisper of armour.
‘My brother, I’d hazard,’ Tehol said, then, turning to face the curtained doorway, he raised his voice. ‘Brys, do come in.’
The hanging was pulled aside and Brys entered. ‘Well, that is an interesting smell,’ he said.
‘Sole soup,’ Tehol said. ‘Would you like some?’
‘No, thank you. I have already eaten, it being well after the second bell. I trust you have heard the rumours.’
‘The war?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve heard hardly a thing,’ Tehol said.
Brys hesitated, glancing at Bugg, then he sighed. ‘A new emperor has emerged to lead the Tiste Edur. Tehol, Hull has sworn his allegiance to him.’
‘Now, that is indeed unfortunate.’
‘Accordingly, you are at risk.’
‘Arrest?’
‘No, more likely assassination. All in the name of patriotism.’
Tehol set his bowl down. ‘It occurs to me, Brys, that you are more at risk than I am.’
‘I am well guarded, brother, whilst you are not.’
‘Nonsense! I have Bugg!’
The manservant looked up at Brys with a bland smile.
‘Tehol, this is not time for jokes—’
‘Bugg resents that!’
‘I do?’
‘Well, don’t you? I would, if I were you—’
‘It seems you just were.’
‘My apologies for making you speak out of turn, then.’
‘Speaking on your behalf, master, I accept.’
‘You are filled with relief—’
‘Will you two stop it!’ Brys shouted, throwing up his hands. He began pacing the small confines of the room. ‘The threat is very real. Agents of the queen will not hesitate. You are both in very grave danger.’
‘But how will killing me change the fact of Hull forsaking our homeland?’
‘It won’t, of course. But your history, Tehol, makes you a hated man. The queen’s investments suffered thanks to you, and she’s not the type to forgive and forget.’
‘Well, what do you suggest, Brys?’
‘Stop sleeping on your roof, for one. Let me hire a few bodyguards—’
‘A few? How many are you thinking?’
‘Four, at least.’
‘One.’
‘One?’
‘One. No more than that. You know how I dislike crowds, Brys.’
‘Crowds? You’ve never disliked crowds, Tehol.’
‘I do now.’
Brys glowered, then sighed. ‘All right. One.’
‘And that will make you happy, then? Excellent—’
‘No more sleeping on your roof.’
‘I’m afraid, brother, that won’t be possible.’
‘Why not?’
Tehol gestured. ‘Look at this place! It’s a mess! Besides, Bugg snores. And we’re not talking mild snoring, either. Imagine being chained to the floor of a cave, with the tide crashing in, louder, louder, louder—’
‘I have in mind three guards, all brothers,’ Brys said, ‘who can spell each other. One will therefore always be with you, even when you’re sleeping on your roof.’
‘So long as they don’t snore—’
‘They won’t be asleep, Tehol! They’ll be standing guard!’
‘All right. Calm down. I am accepting, aren’t I? Now, how about some soup, just to tide you over until you break your fast?’
Brys glanced at the pot. ‘There’s wine in it, isn’t there?’
‘Indeed. Only the best, at that.’
‘Fine. Half a bowl.’
Tehol and Bugg exchanged pleased smiles.
Chapter Fifteen
Black glass stands between us
The thin face of otherness
Risen into difference
These sibling worlds
You cannot reach through
Or pierce this shade so distinct
As to make us unrecognizable
Even in reflection
The black glass stands
And that is more than all
And the between us
Gropes but never finds
Focus or even meaning
The between us is ever lost
In that barrier of darkness
When backs are turned
And we do little more than refuse
Facing ourselves.
PREFACE TO THE NEREK ABSOLUTION
MYRKAS PREADICT
Light and heat rose in waves from the rock, swirled remorselessly along the narrow track. The wraiths had fled to cracks and fissures and huddled there now, like bats awaiting dusk. Seren Pedac paused to await Buruk. She set her pack down, then tugged at the sweat-sodden, quilted padding beneath her armour, feeling it peel away from her back like skin. She was wearing less than half her kit, the rest strapped onto the pack, yet it still dragged at her after the long climb to the summit of the pass.
She could hear nothing from beyond the crest twenty paces behind her, and considered going back to check on her charge. Then, faintly, came a curse, then scrabbling sounds.
The poor man.
They had been hounded by the wraiths the entire way. The ghostly creatures made the very air agitated and restless. Sleep was difficult, and the constant motion flitting in their peripheral vision, the whispered rustling through their camps, left their nerves raw and exhausted.
She glared a moment at the midday sun, then wiped the gritty sweat from her brow and walked a few paces ahead on the trail. They were almost out of Edur territory. Another thousand paces. After that, another day’s worth of descent to the river. Without the wagons, they would then be able to hire a river boat to take them the rest of the way down to Trate. Another day for that.
And then? Will he still hold me to the contract? It seemed pointless, and so she had assumed he would simply release her, at least for the duration of the war, and she would be free to journey back to Letheras. But Buruk the Pale had said nothing of that. In fact, he had not said much of anything since leaving the Hiroth village.
She turned as he clambered onto the summit’s flat stretch. Clothed in dust and streaks of sweat, beneath them a deeply flushed face and neck. Seren walked back towards him. ‘We will rest here for a time.’
He coughed, then asked, ‘Why?’ The word was a vicious growl.
‘Because we need it, Buruk.’
‘You don’t. And why speak for me? I am fine, Acquitor. Just get us to the river.’
Her pack held both their possessions and supplies. She had cut down a sapling and trimmed it to serve as a walking stick for him, and this was all he carried. His once fine clothes were ragged, the leggings torn by sharp rocks. He stood before her, wheezing, bent over and leaning heavily on the stick. ‘I mean to rest, Buruk,’ she said after a moment. ‘You can do as you please.’
‘I can’t stand being watched!’ the merchant suddenly shrieked. ‘Always watching! Those damned shades! No more!’ With that he stumbled past her on the trail.
Seren returned to her pack and slung it once more over her shoulders. One sentiment she could share with Buruk: the sooner this trip was over, the better. She set out in his wake.
A dozen paces along and she reached his side. Then was past.
By the time Seren arrived at the clearing where the borders had been agreed over a century ago, Buruk the Pale was once more out of sight somewhere back on the trail. She halted, flung down her pack, and walked over to the sheer wall of polished black stone, recalling when she had last touched that strange—and strangely welcoming—surface.
Some mysteries would not unravel, whilst others were peeled back by fraught circumstance or deadly design, to reveal mostly sordid truths.
She set her hands against the warm, glassy stone, and felt something like healing steal into her. Beyond, figures in ceaseless motion, paying no attention to her whatsoever. Preferable to the endless spying of wraiths. And this was as it had always been. Seren settled her forehead against the wall, closing her eyes.
And heard whispering.
A language kin to Tiste Edur. She struggled to translate. Then meaning was found.
‘—when he who commands cannot be assailed. Cannot be defeated.’
‘And now he feeds on our rage. Our anguish.’
‘Of the three, one shall return. Our salvation—’
‘Fool. From each death power burgeons anew. Victory is impossible.’
‘There is no place for us. We but serve. We but bleed out terror and the annihilation begins—’
‘Ours as well.’
‘Yes, ours as well.’
‘Do you think she will come again? Does anyone think she will come again? She will, I am certain of it. With her bright sword. She is the rising sun and the rising sun ever comes, sending us scurrying, cutting us to pieces with that sharp, deadly light—’
‘—annihilation well serves us. Make of us dead shards. To bring an end to this—’
‘Someone is with us.’
‘Who?’
‘A mortal is here with us. Two Mistresses to the same Hold. She is one, and she is here. She is here now and she listens to our words.’
‘Steal her mind!’
‘Take her soul!’
‘Let us out!’
Seren reeled away from the black wall. Staggered, hands to her ears, shaking her head. ‘Enough,’ she moaned. ‘No more, please. No more.’ She sank to her knees, was motionless as the voices faded, their screams dwindling. ‘Mistress?’ she whispered. I am no-one’s mistress. Just one more reluctant…lover of solitude. No place for voices, no place for hard purposes…fierce fires.
Like Hull, only ashes. The smudged remnants of possibilities. But, unlike the man she had once thought to love, she had not knelt before a new icon to certainty. No choices to measure out like the soporific illusion of some drug, the consigning invitation to addiction. She wanted no new masters over her life. Nor the burden of friendships.
A croaking voice behind her. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing, Buruk.’ She climbed wearily to her feet. ‘We have reached the border.’
‘I’m not blind, Acquitor.’
‘We can move on a way, then make camp.’
‘You think me weak, don’t you?’
She glanced over at him. ‘You are sick with exhaustion, Buruk. So am I. What point all this bravado?’
Sudden pain in his expression, then he turned away. ‘I’ll show you soon enough.’
‘What of my contract?’
He did not face her. ‘Done. Once we reach Trate. I absolve you of further responsibility.’
‘So be it,’ she said, walking to her pack.
They built a small fire with the last of their wood. The wraiths, it seemed, cared nothing for borders, flitting along the edges of the flickering light. A renewed interest, and Seren thought she knew why. The spirits within the stone wall. She was now marked.
Mistress of the Hold. Mistresses. There are two, and they think I am one of those two. A lie, a mistake.
Which Hold?
‘You were young,’ Buruk suddenly said, his eyes on the fire. ‘When I first saw you.’
‘And you were happy, Buruk. What of it?’
‘Happiness. Ah, now that is a familiar mask. True, I wore it often, back then. Joyful in my spying, my unceasing betrayals, my deceits and the blood that appeared again and again on my hands.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘My debts, Acquitor. Oh yes, outwardly I stand as a respected merchant…of middling wealth.’
‘And what are you in truth?’
‘It is where dreams fall away, Seren Pedac. That crumbling edifice where totters self-worth. You stand, too afraid to move, and watch your hands in motion, mangling every dream, every visage of the face you would desire, the true face of yourself, behind that mask. It is not helpful, speaking of truths.’
