A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

God has gifted its children with
language and thought in the expectation that the One
God's desires be recorded by mortal hands and interpreted
by mortal minds. That there were three thousand and
twelve sects at New Year One is only surprising in that
there were once tens of thousands, resulting from a
previous misguided policy of extensive education provided
to every citizen of Cabal – a policy since amended in the
interests of unification. There is now one college per sect,
wherein doctrine is formalized. Accordingly, Cabal has
known twenty-three months of uninterrupted peace.'
    Yan Tovis studied the small man, the dancing eyes, the
absurd mask of paint. 'And which sect doctrine did you
learn, Senior Assessor?'
    'Why, that of the Mockers.'
    'And their tenet?'
    'Only this: the One God, having written nothing down,
having left all matters of interpretation of faith and worship
to the unguided minds of over-educated mortals, is
unequivocally insane.'
    'Which, I suppose, is why your mask shows wild
laughter—'
    'Not at all. We of the Mockers are forbidden laughter, for
that is an invitation to the hysteria afflicting the One God.
In the Holy Expression adorning my face you are granted a
true image of the One Behind the Grand Design, in so far
as our sect determines such.' The monk suddenly clasped
his hands beneath his chin. 'Now, our poor soldier has
suffered overlong as it is, whilst we digressed yet again. I
have assessed the taint of a false god in the beleaguered
mind of this wounded man. Accordingly, that false god
must be driven out. Once this is done, I shall remove the
blockages in the brain preventing self-repair, and so all
imbalances will be redressed. The effects of said treatment
will be virtually immediate and readily obvious.'
    Yan Tovis blinked. 'You can truly heal him?'
    'Have I not said so?'
    'Senior Assessor.'
    'Yes?'
    'Are you aware of the purpose you are meant to serve here
in Letheras?'
    'I believe I will be expected to meet the Emperor on a
pitch, whereupon we shall endeavour to kill each other.
Furthermore, I am led to understand that this Emperor cannot
be slain with any measure of finality, cursed as he is by
a false god – the very same false god who has afflicted this
soldier here, by the way. Thus, it is my assessment that I
will be killed in that contest, to the dismay of no-one and
everyone.'
    'And your One God will not help you, a senior priest of
its temple?'
    The man's eyes glittered. 'The One God helps no-one.
After all, should it help one then it must help all, and such
potentially universal assistance would inevitably lead to
irreconcilable conflict, which in turn would without
question drive the One God mad. As indeed it did, long
ago.'
    'And that imbalance can never be redressed?'
    'You lead me to reassess you, Atri-Preda Yan Tovis. You
are rather clever, in an intuitive way. I judge that your Ten
Thousand Secretions flow even and clear, probably the
result of remorseless objectivity or some similar blasphemy
of the spirit – for which, I assure you, I hold no particular
resentment. So, we share this question, which enunciates
the very core of the Mockers' Doctrine. It is our belief that,
should every mortal in this realm achieve clarity of thought
and a cogent regard of morality, and so acquire a profound
humility and respect for all others and for the world in
which they live, then the imbalance will be redressed, and
sanity will return once more to the One God.'
    'Ah . . . I see.'
    'I am sure you do. Now, I believe a healing was
imminent. A conjoining of the warrens of High Mockra
and High Denul. Physiological amendment achieved by
the latter. Expurgation of the taint and elimination of the
blockages, via the former. Of course, said warrens are faint
in their manifestation here in this city, for a variety of
reasons. Nonetheless, I do indeed possess substantial
talents, some of which are directly applicable to the matter
at hand.'
    Feeling slightly numbed, Yan Tovis rubbed at her face.
She closed her eyes – then, at a ragged sigh from Varat
Taun, opened them again, to see her second in command's
limbs slowly unfold, the fierce clutch of muscles on his
neck visibly ease as the man, blinking, slowly lifted
his head.
    And saw her.
    'Varat Taun.'
    A faint smile, worn with sorrow – but a natural sorrow.
'Atri-Preda. We made it back, then . . .'
    She frowned, then nodded. 'You did. And since that
time, Lieutenant, the fleet has come home.' She gestured at
the room. 'You are