A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

peered upward, focusing on that massive iron,
rust-streaked spike. 'No,' he murmured after a moment,
'that is not rust. Otataral. She was bound by otataral. Yet,
she was Elder – she should have been able to defeat that
eager entropy. I do not understand this ...'
    'Old and new,' Icarium said, his tone twisting the words
into a curse. He rose suddenly, his expression ravaged and
eyes hard. 'Speak to me, Mappo. Tell me what you know of
spilled blood.'
    He turned away. 'Icarium—'
    'Mappo, tell me.'
    Gaze settling on the aquamarine pool, the Trell was
silent as emotions warred within him. Then he sighed.
'Who first dipped their hands into this fell stream? Who
drank deep and so was transformed, and what effect did
that otataral spike have upon that transformation? Icarium,
this blood is fouled—'
    'Mappo.'
    'Very well. All blood spilled, my friend, possesses power.
Beasts, humans, the smallest bird, blood is the life-force,
the soul's own stream. Within it is locked the time of living,
from beginning to end. It is the most sacred force in
existence. Murderers with their victims' blood staining
their hands feed from that force, whether they choose to or
not. Many are sickened, others find a new hunger within
themselves, and so become slaves to the violence of slaying.
The risk is this: blood and its power become tainted by such
things as fear and pain. The stream, sensing its own demise,
grows stressed, and the shock is as a poison.'
    'What of fate?' Icarium asked in a heavy voice.
    Mappo flinched, his eyes still on the pool. 'Yes,' he
whispered, 'you cut to the matter's very heart. What does
anyone take upon themselves when such blood is absorbed,
drawn into their own soul? Must violent death be in turn
delivered upon them? Is there some overarching law, seeking
ever to redress the imbalance? If blood feeds us, what in
turn feeds it, and is it bound by immutable rules or is it as
capricious as we are? Are we creatures on this earth the
only ones free to abuse our possessions?'
    'The K'Chain Che'Malle did not kill Sorrit,' Icarium
said. 'They knew nothing of it.'
    'Yet this creature here was frozen, so it must have been
encompassed in the Jaghut's ritual of Omtose Phellack –
how could the K'Chain Che'Malle not have known of this?
They must have, even if they themselves did not slay
Sorrit.'
    'No, they are innocent, Mappo. I am certain of it.'
    'Then ... how?'
    'The crucifix, it is Blackwood. From the realm of the
Tiste Edur. From the Shadow Realm, Mappo. In that realm,
as you know, things can be in two places at once, or begin
in one yet find itself eventually manifesting in another.
Shadow wanders, and respects no borders.'
    'Ah, then ... this ... was trapped here, drawn from
Shadow—'
    'Snared by the Jaghut's ice magic – yet the spilled blood,
and perhaps the otataral, proved too fierce for Omtose
Phellack, thus shattering the Jaghut's enchantment.'
    'Sorrit was murdered in the Shadow Realm. Yes. Now
the pattern, Icarium, grows that much clearer.'
    Icarium fixed bright, fevered eyes upon the Trell. 'Is it?
You would blame the Tiste Edur?'
    'Who else holds such command of Shadow? Not the
Malazan pretender who now sits on the throne!'
    The Jhag warrior said nothing. He walked along the
pool's edge, head down as if seeking signs from the battered
floor. 'I know this Jaghut. I recognize her work. The carelessness
in the unleashing of Omtose Phellack. She was ...
distraught. Impatient, angry, weary of the endless paths the
K'Chain Che'Malle employed in their efforts to invade, to
establish colonies on every continent. She cared nothing
for the civil war afflicting the K'Chain Che'Malle. These
Short-Tails were fleeing their kin, seeking a refuge. I doubt
she bothered asking questions.'
    'Do you think,' Mappo asked, 'that she knows of what
has happened here?'
    'No, else she would have returned. It may be that she is
dead. So many are ...'
    Oh, Icarium, would that such knowledge remained lost to
you.
    The Jhag halted and half-turned. 'I am cursed. This is the
secret you ever keep from me, isn't it? There are ...
recollections. Fragments.' He lifted a hand as if to brush his
brow, then let it fall. 'I sense... terrible things ...'
    'Yes. But they do not belong to you, Icarium. Not to the
friend standing before me now.'
    Icarium's deepening frown tore at Mappo's heart, but he
would not look away, would not abandon his friend at this
tortured moment.
    'You,' Icarium said, 'are my protector, but that protection
is not as