Memories of Ice (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #3)

Memories of Ice (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #3) Page 397

'Well then,' snapped Murillio, 'maybe you can explain why there's a burial pit in here!'

'That shall become clear in time … I hope. Know this: something has happened. Far to the south. Something … unexpected. The consequences are unknown — to us all. None the less, the time has come for the Mhybe-'

'And what does that mean, precisely?' Coll demanded.

'Now,' the Elder God replied, moving past him to kneel before the Mhybe, 'she must dream for real.'

They were gone. Gone from her soul, and with their departure — with what Itkovian had done, was doing — all that she had hoped to achieve had been torn down, left in ruins.

Silverfox stood motionless, cold with shock.

Kallor's brutal attack had revealed yet another truth — the T'lan Ay had abandoned her. A loss that twisted a knife blade into her soul.

Once more, betrayal, the dark-hearted slayer of faith. Nightchill's ancient legacy. Tattersail and Bellurdan Skullcrusher both — killed by the machinations of Tayschrenn, the hand of the Empress. And now. Whiskeyjack. The two marines, my twin shadows for so long. Murdered.

Beyond the kneeling T'lan Imass waited the K'Chain Che'Malle undead. The huge creatures made no move towards the T'lan Imass — yet. They need only wade into the ranks, blades chopping down, and begin destroying. My children are beyond resistance. Beyond caring. Oh, ltkovian, you noble fool.

And this mortal army — she saw the Grey Swords down below, readying lassos, lances and shields — preparing to charge the K'Chain Che'Malle. Dujek's army was being destroyed within the city — the north gate had to be breached. She saw Gruntle, Trake's Mortal Sword, leading his motley legion down to join the Grey Swords. She saw officers riding before the wavering line of Malazans, rallying the heartbroken soldiers. She saw Artanthos — Tayschrenn — preparing to unleash his warren. Caladan Brood knelt beside Korlat, High Denul sorcery enwreathing the Tiste Andii woman. Orfantal stood behind the warlord — she felt the dragon in his blood, icy hunger, eager to return.

All for naught. The Seer and his demonic condors. and the K'Chain Che'Malle. will kill them all.

She had no choice. She would have to begin. Defy the despair, begin all that she had set in motion so long ago. Without hope, she would take the first step on the path.

Silverfox opened the Warren of Tellann.

Vanished within.

A mother's love abides.

But I was never meant to be a mother. I wasn't ready. I was unprepared to give so much of myself. A self I had only begun to unveil.

The Mhybe could have turned away. At the very beginning. She could have defied Kruppe, defied the Elder God, the Imass — what were these lost souls to her? Malazans, one and all. The enemy. Dire in the ways of magic. All with the blood of Rhivi staining their hands.

Children were meant to be gifts. The physical manifestation of love between a man and a woman. And for that love, all manner of sacrifice could be borne.

Is it enough that the child issued from my flesh? Arrived in this world in the way of all children? Is the simple pain of birth the wellspring of love? Everyone else believed so. They took the bond of mother and child as given, a natural consequence of the birth itself.

They should not have done that.

My child was not innocent.

Conceived out of pity, not love; conceived with dread purpose — to take command of the T'lan Imass, to draw them into yet another war — to betray them.

And now, the Mhybe was trapped. Lost in a dreamworld too vast to comprehend, where forces were colliding, demanding that she act, that she do … something.

Ancient gods, bestial spirits, a man imprisoned in pain, in a broken, twisted body. This cage of ribs before me — is it his? The one I spoke with, so long ago? The one writhing so in a mother's embrace? Are we as kin, he and I? Both trapped in ravaged bodies, both doomed to slide ever deeper into this torment of pain?

The beast waits for me — the man waits for me. We must reach out to each other. To touch, to give proof to both of us that we are not alone.

Is this what awaits us?

The cage of ribs, the prison, must be broken from the outside.

Daughter, you may have forsaken me. But this man, this brother of mine, him I shall not forsake.

She could not be entirely sure, but she believed that she started crawling once more.

The beast howled in her mind, a voice raw with agony.

She would have to free it, if she could. Such was pity's demand.

Not love.

Ah, now I see.

Thus.

He would embrace them. He would take their pain. In this world, where all had been taken from him, where he walked without purpose, burdened with the lives and deaths of tens of thousands of mortal souls — unable to grant them peace, unable — unwilling — to simply cast them off, he was not yet done.