A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

shape.
    Darkness, now, inside and out. Something hot and
savage tore past him, racing downward like a spear of light,
and Chaur flinched. And he closed his eyes to make those
things go away. The ache was finally gone from his lungs.
    I sleep now.
     
    Geysers of steam shooting skyward, thunderous concussions
racking the air and visibly battering the sea so that it shook,
trembled, and Cutter saw Barathol dive into the churning
water, into Chaur's wake. The body. Heboric – Chaur, oh
gods ...
    He reached Scillara's side and pulled her close, into his
arms. She clutched his sodden shirt. 'I'm so glad,' she
whispered, as the Grief groaned and canted further onto its
side.
    'About what?'
    'That I left her. Back there. I left her.'
    Cutter hugged her all the tighter.
    I'm sorry, Apsalar. For everything —
    Sudden buffeting winds, a sweeping shadow. He looked
up and his eyes widened at the monstrous shape occluding
the sky, descending—
    A dragon. What now?
    And then he heard shouts – and at that moment, the Grief seemed to explode.
    Cutter found himself in the water, thrashing, panic
awakened within him, like a fist closing round his heart.
     
    ... Reaching ... reaching . ..
    What is this sound? Where am I?
    A million voices – screaming, plunging into terrible
death – oh, they had travelled the dark span for so long,
weightless, seeing before them that vast ... emptiness.
Unmindful of their arguing, their discussions, their fierce
debates, it swallowed them. Utterly. Then, out, through to
the other side ... a net of power spreading out, something
eager for mass, something that grew ever stronger, and the
journey was suddenly in crazed, violent motion – a world
beneath – so many lost then – and beyond it, another, this
one larger—
    'Oh, hear us, so many ... annihilated. Mountains struck to
dust, rock spinning away into dark, blinding clouds that
scintillated in harsh sunlight – and now, this beast world that fills
our vision – is this home?
    'Have we come home?'
    Reaching ... hands of jade, dusty, raw, not yet polished
into lurid brightness. I remember ... you had to die, Treach,
didn't you? Before ascendancy, before true godhood. You had to
die first.
    Was I ever your Destriant?
    Did that title ever belong to me?
    Did I need to be killed?
    Reaching – these hands, these unknown, unknowable
hands – how can I answer these screams? These millions in their
shattered prisons – I touched, once, fingertip to fingertip, I
touched, oh ... the voices —
    'This is not salvation. We simply die. Destruction —'
    'No, no, you fool. Home. We have come home —'
    'Annihilation is not salvation. Where is he? Where is our
god?'
    'I tell you, the search ends'.'
    'No argument there.'
    Listen to me.
    'Who is that?'
    'He returns! The one outside – the brother!'
    Listen to me, please. I – I'm not your brother. I'm no-one. I
thought ... Destriant ... did I know it for certain? Have
I been lied to? Destriant ... well, maybe, maybe not. Maybe
we all got it wrong, every one of us. Maybe even Treach got it
wrong.
    'He has lost his mind.'
    'Forget him – look, death, terrible death, it comes —'
    'Mad? So what. I'd rather listen to him than any of you. He
said listen, he said that, and so I shall.'
    'We will all listen, idiot – we have no choice, have we?'
    Destriant. We got it all wrong. Don't you see? All I have
done ... cannot be forgiven. Can never be forgiven – he's sent
me back. Even Hood – he's rejected me, flung me back. But
... it's slipping away, so tenuous, I am failing —
    'Failing, falling, what's the difference?'
    Reaching.
    'What?'
    My hands – do you see them? Cut loose, that's what
happened. The hands ... cut loose. Freed. I can't do this ...
but I think they can. Don't you see?
    'Senseless words.'
    'No, wait —'
    Not Destriant.
    Shield Anvil.
    Reaching ... look upon me – all of you! Reach! See my
hands! See them! They're reaching – reaching out for you!
    They ... are ... reaching ...
     
    Barathol swam down into darkness. He could see
nothing. No-one. Chaur, oh gods, what have J done? He continued
clawing his way downward. Better he drowned as
well – he could not live with this, not with that poor manchild's
death on his hands – he could not—
    His own breath was failing, the pressure closing in,
pounding in his skull. He was blind—
    A flash of emerald green below, blooming, incandescent,
billowing out – and at its core – Oh gods, wait – wait for
me —
    Limp, snagged in