A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

broader, conjoined tributaries feeding the
vast river. Vinik turtles were long-shelled and dorsal-ridged,
and their strong forelimbs ended in taloned hands
bearing opposable thumbs. In the egg-laying season, the
females – smaller by far than their male kin of the deep
rivers and the seas – prowled the ponds seeking the nests of
waterfowl. Finding one large enough and properly
accessible, the female vinik would appropriate it. Prior to
laying her own eggs, the turtle exuded a slime that coated
the bird eggs, the slime possessing properties that suspended
the development of those young birds. Once the
vinik's clutch was in place, the turtle then dislodged the
entire nest, leaving it free to float, drawn by the current. At
each barrier juvenile male vinik were gathered, to drag the
nests over dry ground so that they could continue their
passive migration down to the Lether River.
    Many sank, or encountered some fatal obstacle on their
long, arduous journey to the sea. Others were raided by
adult vinik dwelling in the depths of the main river. Of
those nests that made it to sea, the eggs hatched, the
hatchlings fed on the bird embryos, then slipped out into
the salty water. Only upon reaching juvenile age – sixty or
seventy years – would the new generation of vinik begin
the years-long journey back up the river, to those distant,
murky ponds of the Bluerose boreal forest.
    Nests bobbed in the waters of the Lether River as it
flowed past the Imperial City, Letheras, seat of the
Emperor. Local fisher boats avoided them, since large vinik
males sometimes tracked the nests just beneath the surface
– and provided they weren't hungry enough to raid the
nest, they would defend it. Few fisher folk willingly
challenged a creature that could weigh as much as a river
galley and was capable of tearing such a galley to pieces
with its beak and its clawed forearms.
    The arrival of the nests announced the beginning of
summer, as did the clouds of midges swarming over the
river, the settling of the water level and the reek of exposed
silts along the banks.
    On the faint rise behind the Old Palace, the dishevelled
expanse where stood the foundations of ancient towers,
and one in particular constructed of black stone with a low-walled
yard, a hunched, hooded figure dragged himself
towards the gateway step by aching, awkward step. His
spine was twisted, pushed by past ravages of unconstrained
power until the ridge of each vertebra was visible beneath
the threadbare cloak, the angle forcing his shoulders far forward
so that the unkempt ground before him was within
reach of his arms, which he used to pull his broken body
along.
    He came searching for a nest. A mound of ragged earth
and dying grasses, a worm-chewed hole into a now dead
realm. Questing with preternatural senses, he moved
through the yard from one barrow to the next. Empty . . .
empty . . . empty.
    Strange insects edged away from his path. Midges spun
in cavorting swirls over him, but would not alight to feed,
for the searcher's blood was rotted with chaos. The day's
dying light plucked at his misshapen shadow, as if seeking
sense of a stain so malign on the yard's battered ground.
    Empty . . .
    But this one was not. He allowed himself a small
moment of glee. Suspicions confirmed, at last. The place
that was dead . . . was not entirely dead. Oh, the Azath was
now nothing more than lifeless stone, all power and all will
drained away. Yet some sorcery lingered, here, beneath this
oversized mound ringed in shattered trees. Kurald for
certain. Probably Galain – the stink of Tiste Andii was very
nearly palpable. Binding rituals, a thick, interwoven skein
to keep something . . . someone . . . down .
    Crouched, the figure reached with his senses, then suddenly
recoiled, breath hissing from between mangled lips.
    It has begun unravelling! Someone has been here – before me! Not long. Sorcery, working the release of this imprisoned
creature. Father of Shadows, I must think! Hannan Mosag remained motionless, hunched at the
very edge of this mound, his mind racing.
    Beyond the ruined grounds, the river flowed on, down to
the distant sea. Carried on its current, vinik nests spun
lazily; milky green eggs, still warm with the day's heat,
enclosed vague shapes that squirmed about, eager for the
birth of light.
    She lifted her head with a sharp motion, blood and
fragments of human lung smearing her mouth and chin,
sliding then dripping down into the split-open ribcage of
her