A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

only the most
recent version. All since Pale. What of all the others, from
long ago? Us damned survivors don't have it easy. Not even close.
    The thought made him sneer inside. What was this feeling
sorry for himself? Pathetic indulgence and nothing else.
    Skirting the edge of a submerged ravine, they sloshed
through tepid, waist-deep water, their passage swirling up
clouds of silts that had rested lightly on some unseen, interminably
paved lake-bottom. Tracked now by some kind of
fish, their humped backs appearing every now and then to
one side or the other, the dorsal fin ribbed, the bulge of
water hinting at sizes a little too large for restful contemplation.
    Least pleasant of all, Trull Sengar's comment only
moments past that these fish were probably the same kind
that had once tried to eat him.
    And Onrack the Broken had replied, 'Yes, they are the
same as the ones we fought on the floodwall, although of
course they were then in their land-dwelling stage of life.'
    'So why are they here?' Trull then asked.
    'Hungry,' Onrack answered.
    Enough, right then and there, to stir Quick Ben from his
morose taciturnity. 'Listen to you two! We're about to be
attacked by giant wizard-eating fish and you're reminiscing!
Look, are we in real danger or what?'
    Onrack's robust, prognathous face swung to regard him
for a moment, then the T'lan Imass said, 'We were assuming
that you were warding us from them, Quick Ben.'
    'Me?' He looked about, seeking any sign of dry land – but
the milky water stretched on and on.
    'Is it time, then, to make use of your gate?'
    Quick Ben licked his lips. 'I think so. I mean, I've recovered
from the last time, more or less. And I found
somewhere to go. It's just . . .'
    Trull Sengar leaned on his spear. 'You came out of that
magical journey, Quick Ben, wearing the grin of the condemned.
If indeed our destination is as fraught as it must
be, I can understand your reluctance. Also, having
observed you for some time now, it is clear to me that your
battle against Icarium has weakened you at some fundamental
level – perhaps you fear you will not be able to
fashion a gate durable enough to permit the passage of all
three of us? If so—'
    'Wait,' the wizard interjected, silently cursing. 'All right,
I am a little . . . fragile. Ever since Icarium. You see far too
much, Trull Sengar. But I can take us all through. That's a
promise. It's just . . .' He glanced over at Onrack. 'Well,
there may be some . . . unanticipated, uh, developments.'
    Onrack spoke, 'I am at risk?'
    'I'm not sure. Maybe.'
    'This should not unduly affect your decision,' the T'lan
Imass replied. 'I am expendable. These fish cannot eat me,
after all.'
    'If we leave,' Quick Ben said, 'you will be trapped here
for ever.'
    'No. I will abandon this form. I will join oblivion in
these waters.'
    'Onrack—' Trull began in clear alarm.
    But Quick Ben cut in, 'You're coming with us, Onrack.
I'm just saying there's a little uncertainty with what will
happen to you. I can't explain more. It just relates to where
we will find ourselves. To the aspect of that realm, I mean.'
    Trull Sengar snorted. 'Sometimes,' he said with a wry
smile, 'you are truly hopeless, wizard. Best open the gate
now, before we end up in the belly of a fish.' He then
pointed behind Quick Ben. 'That one looks to be the
biggest yet – see the others scatter – and it's coming straight
for us.'
    Turning, the wizard's eyes widened.
    The waist-deep water did not even reach its eyes, and
the monstrous fish was simply bulling its way through the
shallows. A damned catfish of some sort, longer than a
Napan galley—
    Quick Ben raised his arms and shouted in a loud, oddly
high-pitched voice: 'It's time to leave!'
    Fragile. Oh yes, there is that. I poured too much through me trying to beat him back. There's only so much mortal flesh and bone can take. The oldest rule of all, for Hood's sake.
    He forced open the gate, heard the explosive plunge of
water into the realm beyond – the current wrapping round
his legs – and he lunged forward, shouting, 'Follow me!'
    Once again, that nauseating, dreadful moment of
suffocation, then he was staggering through a stream, water
splashing out on all sides, rushing away – and cold wintry
air closed in amidst clouds of vapour.
    Trull Sengar stumbled past him, using the spear to right
himself a moment before falling.
    Gasping, Quick Ben turned.
    And saw a figure emerge from the white mists.
    Trull Sengar's shout of surprise startled