A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

manifold
wounds of betrayal, of failure, of self-recrimination, the
very fists that had shattered all that he had been ... before
the fall.
    Yet still the threads drew the pieces together, unmindful
of agony, ignoring his every screamed protest.
    He found himself standing amidst tall pillars of stone
that had been antler-chiselled into tapering columns.
Heavy wrought-iron clouds scudded over one half of the
sky, a high wind spinning strands across the other half, filling
a void – as if something had punched through from the
heavens and the hole was slow in healing. The pillars,
Mappo saw, rose on all sides, scores of them, forming some
pattern indefinable from where he stood in their midst.
They cast faint shadows across the battered ground, and his
gaze was drawn to those shadows, blankly at first, then with
growing realization. Shadows cast in impossible directions,
forming a faint array, a web, reaching out on all sides.
    And, Mappo now understood, he stood at its very centre.
    A young woman stepped into view from behind one of
the pillars. Long hair the colours of dying flames, eyes the
hue of beaten gold, dressed in flowing black silks. 'This,'
she said in the language of the Trell, 'is long ago. Some
memories are better left alone.'
    'I have not chosen it,' Mappo said. 'I do not know this
place.'
    'Jacuruku, Mappo Runt. Four or five years since the Fall.
Yet one more abject lesson in the dangers that come with
pride.' She lifted her arms, watched as the silks slid free,
revealing unblemished skin, smooth hands. 'Ah, look at
me. I am young again. Extraordinary, that I once believed
myself fat. Does it afflict us all, I wonder, the way one's
sense of self changes over time? Or, do most people
contend, wilfully or otherwise, a changeless persistence in
their staid lives? When you have lived as long as I have, of
course, no such delusions survive.' She looked up, met his
eyes. 'But you know this, Trell, don't you? The gift of the
Nameless Ones shrouds you, the longevity haunts your eyes
like scratched gemstones, worn far past beauty, far past
even the shimmer of conceit.'
    'Who are you?' Mappo asked.
    'A queen about to be driven from her throne, banished
from her empire. My vanity is about to suffer an
ignominious defeat.'
    'Are you an Elder Goddess? I believe I know you ...' He
gestured. 'This vast web, the unseen pattern amidst seeming
chaos. Shall I name you?'
    'Best you did not. I have since learned the art of hiding.
    Nor am I inclined to grant favours. Mogora, that old witch,
will rue this day. Mind you, perhaps she is not to blame.
There is a whisper in the shadows about you, Mappo. Tell
me, what possible interest would Shadowthrone have in
you? Or in Icarium, for that matter?'
    He started. Icarium. I failed him – Abyss below, what has
happened? 'Does he yet live?'
    'He does, and the Nameless Ones have gifted him with a
new companion.' She half-smiled. 'You have been ... discarded.
Why, I wonder? Perhaps some failing of purpose, a
faltering – you have lost the purity of your vow, haven't
you?'
    He looked away. 'Why have they not killed him, then?'
    She shrugged. 'Presumably, they foresee a use for his
talents. Ah, the notion terrifies you, doesn't it? Can it be
true that you have, until this moment, retained your faith
in the Nameless Ones?'
    'No. I am distressed by the notion of what they will
release. Icarium is not a weapon—'
    'Oh you fool, of course he is. They made him, and now
they will use him ... ah, now I understand Shadowthrone.
Clever bastard. Of course, I am offended that he would so
blithely assume my allegiance. And even more offended to
realize that, in this matter, his assumption was correct.' She
paused, then sighed. 'It is time to send you back.'
    'Wait – you said something – the Nameless Ones, that
they made Icarium. I thought—'
    'Forged by their own hands, and then, through the
succession of guardians like you, Mappo, honed again and
yet again. Was he as deadly when he first crawled from the
wreckage they'd made of his young life? As deadly as he is
now? I would imagine not.' She studied him. 'My words
wound you. You know, I dislike Shadowthrone more and
more, as my every act and every word here complies with
his nefarious expectation. I wound you, then realize that he
needs you wounded. How is it he knows us so well?'
    'Send me back.'
    'Icarium's trail grows cold.'
    'Now.'
    'Oh, Mappo, you incite me unto weeping. I did that, on
occasion, when I was young. Although, granted,