A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

the Holy Desert
Raraku – so for us, wasn't Y'Ghatan enough? It seemed that,
for these soldiers here, the tempering had gone too far,
creating something pitted and brittle, as if one more blow
would shatter them.
    Up ahead, the captain called out a halt, her voice
eliciting a chorus of curses and groans of relief. Although
there was no shade to be found, walking through this
furnace was far worse than sitting by the roadside easing
burnt, cut and blistered feet. Bottle stumbled down into the
ditch and sat on a boulder. He watched, sweat stinging his
eyes, as Deadsmell and Lutes moved among the soldiers,
doing what they could to heal the wounds.
    'Did you see that Red Blade captain?' Smiles asked,
crouching nearby. 'Looking like she'd just come from a
parade ground.'
    'No she didn't,' Corporal Tarr said. 'She's smoke-stained
and scorched, just like you'd expect.'
    'Only she's got all her hair.'
    'So that's what's got you snarly,' Koryk observed. 'Poor
Smiles. You know it won't grow back, don't you? Never.
You're bald now for the rest of your life—'
    'Liar.'
    Hearing the sudden doubt in her voice, Bottle said, 'Yes,
he is.'
    'I knew that. And what's with the black-haired woman
on the horse? Anybody here know who she is?'
    'Fiddler recognized her,' Tarr said. 'A Bridgeburner, I'd
guess.'
    'She makes me nervous,' Smiles said. 'She's like that
assassin, Kalam. Eager to kill someone.'
    I suspect you're right. And Fid wasn't exactly thrilled to see
her, either.
    Tarr spoke: 'Koryk, when you going to share those finger
bones you collected?'
    'Want yours now?'
    'Aye, I do.'
     
    Her throat parched, her skin layered in sweat even as
shivers rippled through her, Hellian stood on the road. Too
tired to walk, too sick to sit down – she feared she'd never
get up again, just curl into a little juddering ball until the
ants under her skin finished their work and all that skin just
peeled away like deer hide, whereupon they'd all march off
with it, singing songs of triumph in tiny squeaking voices.
    It was the drink, she knew. Or, rather, the lack of it. The
world around her was too sharp, too clear; none of it looked
right, not right at all. Faces revealed too many details, all
the flaws and wrinkles unveiled for the first time. She was
shocked to realize that she wasn't the oldest soldier there
barring that ogre Cuttle. Well, that was the one good thing
that had come of this enforced sobriety. Now, if only those
damned faces could disappear just like the wrinkles on
them, then she'd be happier. No, wait, it was the opposite,
wasn't it? No wonder she wasn't happy.
    Ugly people in an ugly world. That's what came from
seeing it all the way it really was. Better when it was blurred
– all farther away back then, it had seemed, so far away
she'd not noticed the stinks, the stains, the errant hairs
rising from volcanic pores, the miserable opinions and
suspicious expressions, the whisperings behind her back.
    Turning, Hellian glared down at her two corporals. 'You
think I can't hear you? Now be quiet, or I'll rip one of my
ears off and won't you two feel bad.'
    Touchy and Brethless exchanged a glance, then Touchy
said, 'We ain't said nothing, Sergeant.'
    'Nice try.'
    The problem was, the world was a lot bigger than she
had ever imagined. More crannies for spiders than a mortal
could count in a thousand lifetimes. Just look around for
proof of that. And it wasn't just spiders any more.. No, here
there were flies that bit and the bite sank an egg under the
skin. And giant grey moths that fluttered in the night and
liked eating scabs from sores when you were sleeping.
Waking up to soft crunching way too close by. Scorpions
that split into two when you stepped on them. Fleas that
rode the winds. Worms that showed up in the corners of
your eyes and made red swirling patterns through your eyelids,
and when they got big enough they crawled out your
nostrils. Sand ticks and leather leeches, flying lizards and
beetles living in dung.
    Her entire body was crawling with parasites – she could
feel them. Tiny ants and slithering worms under her skin,
burrowing into her flesh, eating her brain. And, now that
the sweet taste of alcohol was gone, they all wanted out.
She expected, at any moment, to suddenly erupt all over,
all the horrid creatures clambering out and her body deflating
like a punctured bladder. Ten thousand wriggling
things, all desperate for a drink.
    'I'm going to find him,' she said. 'One day.'
    'Who?' Touchy asked.
    'That