A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

What
have I forgotten?
    It had been hard to reconcile that shivering, wide-eyed
child hiding in her arms that night with the conniving
trickster of only a few years later.
    Perhaps, she now thought as she trailed Bridthok and
the train of his flapping, threadbare robes, perhaps in the
interval of those few years, Adaephon Delat had remembered
what it was he had forgotten. Perhaps it was nothing
more than what a corpse still striding the mortal world
could not help but forget.
    How to live.
     
    'I thought daytime was supposed to be for sleeping,' Bottle
muttered as his sergeant tugged on his arm yet again. The
shade of the boulder he had been curled up beside was, the
soldier told himself, the only reason he was still alive. This
day had been the hottest yet. Insects crawling on stone slabs
had cooked halfway across, shells popping like seeds. No-one
moved, no-one said a thing. Thirst and visions of water
obsessed the entire troop. Bottle had eventually fallen into a
sleep that still pulled at him with torpid, heavy hands.
    If only Fiddler would damned well leave him alone.
    'Come with me, Bottle. Up. On your feet.'
    'If you've found a cask of spring water, Sergeant, then I'm
yours. Otherwise ...'
    Fiddler lifted him upright, then dragged him along.
Stumbling, his tongue feeling like a knot of leather strips,
Bottle was barely aware of the path underfoot. Away from
the road, among wind-sculpted rocks, winding this way and
that. Half-blinded by the glare, it was a moment before he
realized that they had stopped, were standing on a clearing
of flat sand, surrounded by boulders, and there were two
figures awaiting them.
    Bottle felt his heart tighten in his chest. The one seated
cross-legged opposite was Quick Ben. To his right squatted
the assassin Kalam, his dark face glistening, worn black
gloves on his hands and the elongated handles of his twin
long-knives jutting out from beneath his arms. The man
looked ready to kill something, although Bottle suspected
that was his normal expression.
    Quick Ben's eyes were fixed on him, languid yet dangerous,
like a leopard playing with a maimed hare. But there
was something else in that regard, Bottle suspected.
Something not quite hidden. Fear?
    After a moment of locked gazes, Bottle's attention was
drawn to the collection of dolls perched in the sand before
the wizard. Professional interest helped push down his own
fear, for the time being, at least. Involuntarily, he leaned
forward.
    'It's an old art,' Quick Ben said. 'But you know that,
don't you, soldier?'
    'You're at an impasse,' Bottle said.
    The wizard's brows lifted, and he shot Kalam an unreadable
glance before clearing his throat and saying, 'Aye, I
am. How did you see it? And how so ... quickly?'
    Bottle shrugged.
    Quick Ben scowled at an amused grunt from Fiddler. 'All
right, you damned imp, any suggestions on what to do
about it?'
    Bottle ran a hand through the grimy stubble of his hair.
'Tell me what you're trying to do.'
    'What I'm trying to do, soldier, is none of your damned
business!'
    Sighing, Bottle settled onto the sand, assuming a posture
to match that of the man opposite him. He studied the
figures, then pointed to one. 'Who's she?'
    Quick Ben started. 'I didn't know it was a "she".'
    'First one you set down, I'd hazard. You probably woke
from a bad dream, all confused, but knowing something was
wrong, something somewhere, and this one – this woman –
she's your link to it. Family, I'd hazard. Mother? Daughter?
Sister? Sister, yes. She's been thinking about you. A lot,
lately. Look at the skein of shadow lines around her, like
she was standing in a thatch of grass, only there ain't no
grass nearby, so that skein belongs to something else.'
    'Hood squeeze my balls,' Quick Ben hissed, eyes now
darting among the figures on the sand. He seemed to have
forgotten his belligerence. 'Torahaval? What in the name
of the Abyss has she got herself into now? And how come
not one of the others can reach a single shadow towards
her?'
    Bottle scratched at his beard, fingernails trapping a nit.
He pulled it loose and flicked it away.
    Kalam started, then cursed. 'Watch that!'
    'Sorry.' Bottle pointed at one doll, wrapped in black silks.
The shadow the doll cast seemed to reveal two projections
of some kind, like crows perched on each shoulder. 'That's
Apsalar, yes? She's part of this, all right, though not at the
moment. I think her path was meant to cross your sister's,
only it never happened. So, there was intent,