A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

go, Ghost Hands?' Felisin asked.
    'To my home, lass.'
    'That is not what I meant.'
    He cocked his head. 'I do not know—'
    'If indeed you do not, then I have seen your path before
you have, and this I find hard to believe. You must leave here, Ghost Hands. You must retrace your path, else what haunts you will kill you—'
    'And that matters? Lass—'
    'Look beyond yourself for a moment, old man! Something is contained within you. Trapped within your mortal flesh. What will happen when your flesh fails?'
    He was silent for a long moment, then he asked, 'How can you be so sure of this? My death might simply negate the risk of escape – it might shut the portal, as tightly sealed as it had been before—'
    'Because there is no going back. It's here – the power behind those ghostly hands of yours – not the otataral, which is fading, ever fading—'
    'Fading?'
    'Yes, fading! Have not your dreams and visions worsened? Have you not realized why? Yes, my mother has told me – on the Otataral Isle, in the desert – that statue. Heboric, an entire island of otataral was created to contain that statue, to hold it prisoner. But you have given it a means to escape – there, through your hands. You must return!'
    'Enough!' he snarled, flinging her hand away. 'Tell me, did she also tell you of herself on that journey?'
    'That which she was before no longer matters—'
    'Oh, but it does, lass! It does matter!'
    'What do you mean?'
    The temptation came close to overwhelming him. Because she is Malazan! Because she is Tavore's sister! Because this war is no longer the Whirlwind's – it has been stolen away, twisted by something far more powerful, by the ties of blood that bind us all in the harshest, tightest chains! What chance a raging goddess against that?
    Instead, he said nothing.
    'You must undertake the journey,' Felisin said in a low voice. 'But I know, it cannot be done alone. No. I will go with you—'
    He staggered away at her words, shaking his head. It was a horrible idea, a terrifying idea. Yet brutally perfect, a nightmare of synchronicity.
    'Listen! It need not be just you and I – I will find someone else. A warrior, a loyal protector—'
    'Enough! No more of this!' Yet it will take her away – away from Bidithal and his ghastly desires. It will take her away . . . from the storm that is coming. 'With whom else have you spoken of this?' he demanded.
    'No-one, but I thought... Leoman. He could choose for us someone from Mathok's people—'
    'Not a word, lass. Not now. Not yet.'
    Her hand gripped his forearm once more. 'We cannot wait too long, Ghost Hands.'
    'Not yet, Felisin. Now, take me home, please.'
     
    'Will you come with me, Toblakai?'
    Karsa dragged his gaze from Urugal's stone face. The sun had set with its characteristic suddenness, and the stars overhead were bright. The snakes had begun dispersing, driven into the eerily silent forest in search of food. 'Would you I run beside you and your puny horses, Leoman? There are no Teblor mounts in this land. Nothing to match my size—'
    'Teblor mounts? Actually, friend, you are wrong in that. Well, not here, true, as you say. But to the west, in the Jhag Odhan, there are wild horses that are a match to your stature. Wild now, in any case. They are Jhag horses – bred long ago by the Jaghut. It may well be that your Teblor mounts are of the same breed – there were Jaghut on Genabackis, after all.'
    'Why have you not told me this before?'
    Leoman lowered his right hand to the ground, watched as the flare-neck unwound down the length of his arm. 'In truth, this is the first time you have ever mentioned that you Teblor possessed horses. Toblakai, I know virtually nothing of your past. No-one here does. You are not a
loquacious man. You and I, we have ever travelled on foot, haven't we?'
    'The Jhag Odhan. That is beyond Raraku.'
    'Aye. Strike west through the Whirlwind, and you will come to cliffs, the broken shoreline of the ancient sea that once filled this desert. Continue on until you come to a small city – Lato Revae. Immediately to the west lies the tip of the Thalas Mountains. Skirt their south edge, ever westward, until you come to River Ugarat. There is a ford south of Y'Ghatan. From the other side, strike west and south and west, for two weeks or more, and you will find yourself in the Jhag Odhan. Oh, there is some irony in this – there were once nomadic bands of Jaghut there. Hence the name. But these Jaghut were fallen. They had been