A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

lost.'
    Nimander sat up. He was covered in volcanic dust, so
fine it shed from him like liquid. 'Build your house, then.'
    'Whenever I begin, the spirits attack me. Hundreds,
then thousands. Too many.'
    'I stepped through a wall of ice.' The memory was
suddenly strong. 'Omtose Phellack—'
    'Oh, ice is like blood and blood is like ice. There are
many ways in. None out. You do not belong here because
you are not yet dead. You are lost, like me. We should be
friends, I think.'
    'I can't stay—'
    'I am sorry.'
    Panic seethed to life in Nimander. He stood, sinking
to his shins in the hot ash. 'I can't – Gothos. Find me. Gothos!'
    'I remember Gothos.' A terrible frown lowered the
Elder's brows. 'He would appear, just before the last stone
was set. He would look upon my house and pronounce
it adequate. Adequate! Oh, how I hated that word! My
sweat, my blood, and he called them adequate! And then
he would walk inside and close the door, and I would place
the last stone, and the house would vanish! I don't think
I like Gothos.'
    'I don't blame you,' Nimander said, unwilling to voice
his suspicion that Gothos's arrival and the vanishing of the
houses were in fact connected; that indeed the Jaghut came
to collect them. This Elder builds the Houses of the Azath.
And he is lost.
    'Tell me,' Nimander said, 'do you think there are others
like you? Others, out there, building houses?'
    'I don't know.'
    Nimander looked round. The jagged walls of the cone
enclosed the space. Enormous chunks of pumice and
obsidian lay half buried in the grey dust. 'Elder, do the
spirits ever assail you here?'
    'In my pit? No, they cannot climb the sides.'
    'Build your house here.'
    'But—'
    'Use the rim as your foundation.'
    'But houses have corners!'
    'Make it a tower.'
    'A house . . . within the blood of dragons? But there are
no sunsets.'
    A house within the blood of dragons. What would happen?
What would change? Why do the spirits deny him this? 'If you
are tired of being lost,' Nimander said, 'build a house. But
before you are done, before you set that last stone, walk
into it.' He paused and looked round, then grunted a laugh.
'You won't have any choice; you will be building the thing
from the inside out.'
    'But then who will finish it?'
    Nimander looked away. He was trapped here, possibly
for ever. If he did as Gothos did, if he remained inside the
house to await its completion, he might find a way out. He
might walk those hidden pathways. And in so doing, he
would doom this creature to eternity here. This child, this
mason.
    And that I cannot do. I am not like Gothos. I am not that
cruel.
    He heard laughter in his head. Phaed, shrieking with
laughter. Then she said, 'Don't be an idiot. Take the way out.
Leave this fool to his building blocks! He's pathetic!'
    'I will set the last stone,' Nimander said. 'Just make
sure it's small enough for me to lift and push into place.'
And he looked up, and he saw that the giant was smiling,
and no, it no longer looked like a child, and in its eyes
something shone and its light flowed down, bathed
Nimander.
    'I am different,' the Elder said in a deep, warm voice, 'when I build.'
    'Get him out,' Desra said.
    'I cannot.'
    'Why?'
    The Jaghut blinked like a lizard. 'I don't know how. The
gate is Omtose Phellack, but the realm beyond is something
else, something I want nothing to do with.'
    'But you made this gate – and gates open from both
sides.'
    'I doubt he could ever find it,' the Jaghut said. 'Even
assuming anyone lets him get close.'
    'Anyone? Who's in there with him?'
    'A few million miserable wretches.'
    Desra glared at Skintick. 'How could you let this
happen?'
    He was weeping and could only shake his head.
    'Do not blame this one,' the Jaghut said. 'Do not blame
anyone. Accidents happen.'
    'You drugged us,' Skintick suddenly accused him, his
voice harsh with grief.
    'Alas, I did. And I had my reasons for doing so . . . which
seem to have failed. Therefore I must be more . . . direct,
and oh how I dislike being direct. When next you see
Anomander, tell him this from me: he chose wisely. Each
time, he chose wisely. Tell him, then, that of all whom I
ever met, there is but one who has earned my respect, and
he is that one.'
    A sudden sob from Skintick.
    Desra felt strangely shaken by the Jaghut's words.
    'And,' the Jaghut then added, 'for you. Do not trust
Kallor.'
    Feeling helpless, useless, she stepped closer to the wall
of ice, squinted into its dark depths.
    'Careful, woman. That blood pulls