A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

the wilderness.'
    'Instead,' Scillara said, 'we live in a prison. Us women,
anyway.'
    'It can't be as bad as that,' Felisin insisted.
    'Nothing can be done,' Heboric said. 'We each fall into
our lives and that's that. Some choices we make, but most
are made for us.'
    'Well,' Scillara retorted, 'you would think that, wouldn't
you? But look at this stupid journey here, Heboric. True, at
first we were just fleeing Raraku, that damned sea rising up
out of the sands. Then it was that idiot priest of Shadow,
and Cutter there, and suddenly we were following you –
where? The island of Otataral. Why? Who knows, but it
has something to do with those ghost hands of yours, something
to do with you righting a wrong. And now I'm
pregnant.'
    'How does that last detail fit?' Felisin demanded, clearly
exasperated.
    'It just does, and no, I'm not interested in explaining
Gods below, I'm choking on these damned bugs! Cutter!
Get back here, you brainless oaf!'
    Heboric was amused by the stunned surprise in the young
man's face as he turned round at the shout.
    The Daru reined in and waited.
    By the time the others arrived, he was cursing and
slapping at insects.
    'Now you know how we feel,' Scillara snapped.
    'Then we should pick up our pace,' Cutter said. 'Is everyone
all right with that? It'd be good for the horses, besides.
They need some stretching out.'
    I think we all need that. 'Set the pace, Cutter. I'm sure
Greyfrog can keep up.'
    'He jumps with his mouth open,' Scillara said.
    'Maybe we should all try that,' Felisin suggested.
    'Hah! I'm full up enough as it is!'
    No god truly deserved its acolytes. It was an unequal
relationship in every sense, Heboric told himself. Mortals
could sacrifice their entire adult life in the pursuit of communion
with their chosen god, and what was paid in return
for such devotion? Not much at best; often, nothing at all.
Was the faint touch from something, someone, far greater
in power – was that enough?
    When I touched Fener. ..
    The Boar God would have been better served, he
realized, with Heboric's indifference. The thought cut into
him like a saw-bladed, blunt knife – nothing smooth,
nothing precise – and, as Cutter led them into a canter
down the track, Heboric could only bare his teeth in a hard
grimace against the spiritual pain.
    From which rose a susurration of voices, all begging him,
pleading with him. For what he could not give. Was this
how gods felt? Inundated with countless prayers, the seeking
of blessing, the gift of redemption sought by myriad lost
souls. So many that the god could only reel back,
pummelled and stunned, and so answer every beseeching
voice with nothing but silence.
    But redemption was not a gift. Redemption had to be
earned.
    And so on we ride ...
     
    Scillara drew up alongside Cutter. She studied him until he
became aware of the attention and swung his head round.
    'What is it? What's wrong?'
    'Who said anything was wrong?'
    'Well, it's been a rather long list of complaints from you
of late, Scillara.'
    'No, it's been a short list. I just like repeating myself.'
    She watched him sigh, then he shrugged and said, 'We're
maybe a week from the coast. I'm beginning to wonder if it
was a good thing to take this overland route ... through
completely unpopulated areas. We're always rationing our
food and we're all suffering from that, excepting maybe you
and Greyfrog. And we're growing increasingly paranoid, fleeing
from every dust-trail and journey-house.' He shook his
head. 'Nothing's after us. We're not being hunted. Nobody
gives a damn what we're up to or where we're going.'
    'What if you're wrong?' Scillara asked. She looped the
reins over the saddle horn and began repacking her pipe.
His horse misstepped, momentarily jolting her. She winced.
'Some advice for you, Cutter. If you ever get pregnant,
don't ride a horse.'
    'I'll try to remember that,' he said. 'Anyway, you're right.
I might be wrong. But I don't think I am. It's not like we've
set a torrid pace, so if hunters were after us, they'd have
caught up long ago.'
    She had an obvious reply to that, but let it go. 'Have you
been looking around, Cutter? As we've travelled? All these
weeks in this seeming wasteland?'
    'Only as much as I need to, why?'
    'Heboric's chosen this path, but it's not by accident.
Sure, it's a wasteland now, but it wasn't always one. I've
started noticing things, and not just the obvious ones like
that ruined city we passed near. We've been on old roads –
roads that were once