A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

can you hear me?'
    'I can. Follow, then, the sound of my voice. If such a
thing is possible—'
    'It is . . . I think. Scratch the rock you're sitting on – I'll
feel that under my feet—'
    'That,' said the Imass, 'is an impressive talent.'
    'I'm good when I can't see. Vibrations, it's called.'
    'Yes. Can you feel this then?'
    'I'm getting closer, yes. I think I can start a lantern here.
Shuttered so it won't spread out.' He crouched down, the
ends of the long bones thunking behind him, and untied
the small tin lantern from his belt. 'This one's called a
pusher. You can fix it on to a pole and push it ahead. If the
wick dims fast then you know it's bad air. Wait.' A moment
later and soft golden light slanted like a path, straight to
where sat the Bone Miner. Harllo grinned. 'See, I was
almost there, wasn't I?'
    'What is it that you carry, cub?'
    'Your splints . And rope and string.'
    'Let me see those . . . bones. Yes, give them to me—' And
he reached out skeletal hands to grasp the splints as soon
as Harllo came close enough. A low grating gasp from the
Imass, then soft muttering. 'By the Shore of Jaghra Til, I
had not thought to see . . . Cub, my tools . . . for this. The
gift is not in balance.'
    'I can try to find some better ones—'
    'No, child. The imbalance is the other way. These are
emlava, a male, his hind long bones. True, they twist and
cant. Still . . . yes . . . possible.'
    'Will they work as splints then?'
    'No.'
    Harllo sagged.
    The Imass rumbled a low laugh. 'Ah, cub. Not splints.
    No. Legs.'
    'So you can walk again? Oh, I'm glad!'
    'If indeed I was somehow caught in the Ritual of Tellann,
yes, I think I can fashion . . . from these . . . why do you
fret so, cub?'
    'I had to sneak down here. If they find out I'm missing
. . .'
    'What will happen?'
    'I might be beaten – not so much as to make me useless.
    It won't be so bad.'
    'You should go, then, quickly.'
    Harllo nodded, yet still he hesitated. 'I found a building,
a buried building. Was that where you lived?'
    'No. It was a mystery even to the Jaghut Tyrant. Countless
empty rooms, windows looking out upon nothing
– blank rock, pitted sandstone. Corridors leading nowhere
– we explored most of it, I recall, and found nothing. Do not
attempt the same, cub. It is very easy to get lost in there.'
    'I better go,' said Harllo. 'If I can come down here
again—'
    'Not at risk of your hide. Soon, perhaps, I will come to
you.'
    Harllo thought of the consternation such an event
would bring, and he smiled. A moment later he shuttered
the lantern and set off for the stairs.
    From sticks a fortress, a forest, a great wall. From sticks,
a giant, rising up in the darkness, and to look into the pits
of its eyes is to see twin tunnels into rock, reaching down
and down, reaching back and back, to the very bones of
the earth.
    And so he rises, to look upon you – Harllo imagines
this but none of it in quite this way. Such visions and their
deadly promise belong to the adults of the world. To answer
what's been done. What's been done.
    And in the city every building wears a rictus grin, or so
it might seem, when the stone, brick, plaster and wood
breathe in the gloom of dusk, and the gas lanterns are yet
to be set alight, and all the world is ebbing with shadows
drawing together to take away all certainty. The city, this
artifice of cliffs and caves, whispers of madness. Figures
scurry for cover, rats and worse peer out curious and
hungry, voices grow raucous in taverns and other fiery
sanctuaries.
    Is this the city of the day just past? No, it is transformed,
nightmare-tinged, into a netherworld so well suited to the
two figures walking – with comfort and ease – towards
the gate of an estate. Where stand two guards, nervous,
moments from warning the strangers off – for the Lady of
the House was in residence and she valued her privacy,
yes, she did. Or so it must be assumed, and Scorch and
Leff, having discussed the matter at length, were indeed
convinced that, being a Lady, she valued all those things
few others could afford, including . . . er, privacy.
    They held crossbows because who could say what might
creep into view and besides, the heavy weapons were so
comforting to cradle when clouds devoured the stars and
the moon had forgotten to rise and the damned lanterns
still weren't lit. True enough, torches in sconces framed the
arched gateway but this did little more than blind the two
guards to the horrors lurking just beyond the pool of