A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

in pain, but most still and silent.
    Kalam dropped to one knee, struggling to regain his breath.
    'What a mess!' Salk Elan muttered, crouching to wipe his blades clean.
    The assassin lifted his head and stared at him. Elan's fine clothes were scorched and soaked in blood. Half his face was bright red, flash-burned, the eyebrow on that side a smear of ash. He was breathing heavily, and every breath caused him obvious pain.
    Kalam looked past the man. Not a single marine was standing. A handful of sailors moved among the bodies, pulling free those that still lived – they'd found but two thus far, neither one the lieutenant.
    The acting First Mate came to the assassin's side. 'Cook wants to know.'
    'What?'
    'Is that big lizard tasty?'
    Salk Elan's laugh became a cough.
    'A delicacy,' Kalam muttered. 'A hundred jakatas a pound in Pan'potsun.'
    'Permission to cross over to the raider, sir,' the sailor continued. 'We can resupply.'
    The assassin nodded.
    'I'll go with you,' Salk Elan managed.
    'Appreciate that, sir.'
    'Hey,' one of the sailors called, 'what should we do with the treasurer? The bastard's still alive.'
    'Leave him to me,' Kalam said.
     
    The treasurer was conscious as they loaded him down with sacks of coin, making noises behind his gag, his eyes wide. Kalam and Salk Elan carried the man between them to the side and pitched him over without ceremony.
    Sharks converged on the splash the man made, but the effort of following him down proved too great for the already sated creatures.
    The stripped-down raider was still burning beneath a column of smoke as it vanished beyond the horizon.
     
    The Whirlwind lifted itself into a towering wall, higher than the eye could fathom and over a mile in width, around the Holy Desert Raraku. Within the wasteland's heart, all remained calm, the air refulgent with golden light.
    Battered ridges of bedrock rose above the sands ahead, like blackened bones. Walking half a dozen paces in front, Leoman paused and turned. 'We must cross a place of spirits,' he said.
    Felisin nodded. 'Older than this desert . . . they have risen and now watch us.'
    'Do they mean us harm, Sha'ik Reborn?' the Toblakai asked, reaching for his weapon.
    'No. They may be curious, but they are beyond caring.' She turned to Heboric. The ex-priest was still huddled within himself, hidden beneath his tattoos. 'What do you sense?'
    He flinched away from her voice, as if every word sent his way was a jagged dart. 'One needn't be an immortal ghost not to care,' he muttered.
    She studied him. 'Fleeing from the joy of being reborn cannot last, Heboric. What you fear is becoming human once again—'
    His laugh was bitter, sardonic.
    'You do not expect to hear such thoughts from me,' she noted. 'For all that you disliked what I was, you are loath to relinquish that child.'
    'You're still in that rush of power, Felisin, and it's deluded you into thinking it's delivered wisdom as well. There are gifts, and then there is that which must be earned.'
    'He is as shackles about you, Sha'ik Reborn,' the Toblakai growled. 'Kill him.'
    She shook her head, still eyeing Heboric. 'Since wisdom cannot be gifted to me, I would be gifted a wise man. His company, his words.'
    The ex-priest looked up at that, eyes narrowing beneath the heavy shelf of his brow. 'I thought you'd left me no choice, Felisin.'
    'Perhaps it only seemed that way, Heboric'
    She watched the struggle within him, the struggle that had always been there. We have crossed a war-ravaged, land, and all the while we were warring with ourselves. Dryjhna has but raised a mirror ... 'I have learned one thing from you, Heboric,' she said.
    'And that is?'
    'Patience.' She turned about, waved Leoman on.
    They approached the folded, scarred outcroppings. There was little evidence that this place had once known sacred rites. The basaltic bedrock was impervious to the usual pitting and grooving that active hands often worked into the stone of holy sites, nor was there any pattern in the few boulders scattered about.
    Yet Felisin could sense the presence of spirits, once strong, now but echoes, and their faint regard followed them with unseen eyes. Beyond the rise the desert swept out and down into an immense basin, where the dwindling sea of ancient times had finally died. Suspended dust cloaked the vast depression.
    'The oasis lies near the centre,' Leoman said at her side.
    She nodded.
    'Less than seven leagues now.'
    'Who carries Sha'ik's belongings?' she asked.
    'I