A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

escorting an old woman, human, who tottered on
two canes to support her massive weight. Sweat darkened
the cloth of her loose clothing round her armpits and beneath
her cleavage and on the bulging islands of her hips.
Her expression was one of anxiety and discomfort.
    Unbidden, Third Sister rose and pulled a bench away
from one wall, positioning it in the woman's path.
    'Please do sit,' said the High Priestess, thinking, alas,
of the two dozen blind crayfish she'd just eaten, each
almost half the size of a lobster, served up drenched in
melted butter. Pleasure until pain, and we then rail at our
misfortune.
    With muttered thanks, the woman lowered herself on
to the bench. 'Please to introduce myself,' she said in a
wheeze. 'I am the Witch—'
    'I know,' the High Priestess interrupted, 'and that title
will suffice here, as must my own. Yours has been a trying
journey, and so I can only assume you come with word of
a crisis.'
    A quick nod. 'The cult of the Redeemer, High Priestess,
has become . . . corrupted.'
    'And what is the agency of that corruption?'
    'Well, but that is complicated, you see. There was a High
Priestess – oh, she was a reluctant owner of that title, and
all the duties that came with it. Yet none could deny her
natural authority—'
    '"Natural authority",' said the High Priestess. 'I like that
phrase. Sorry, do go on.'
    'Outlaws have usurped the pilgrim camp. There is some
concentrated form of the drink called kelyk – I do not
know if you are familiar with it?'
    'We are, yes.'
    Another quick nod. 'Saemankelyk. The word comes
from a dialect common south of God's Walk Mountains.
"Saeman" means "Dying God" and "kelyk" means—'
'Blood.'
    A sigh. 'Yes.'
    Second Sister cleared her throat, and then said, 'Surely
you do not mean to suggest that the meaning is literal?'
    The witch licked her lips – an instinctive gesture rather
than anything ironic – and said, 'I have applied some
. . . arts, er, to examining this saemankelyk. There are
unnatural properties, that much is certain. In any case,
the outlaws have made addicts of the pilgrims. Including
Salind, the Redeemer's High Priestess.'
    Third Sister spoke. 'If this foul drink is in any way
blessed, then one might well see its poisonous influence as
a corruption of the Redeemer's worshippers. If one kneels
before saemankelyk . . . well, one cannot kneel before two masters, can one?'
    Not without physically splitting in half, no. 'Witch, what is
it you wish of us?'
    'This corruption, High Priestess. It could . . . spread.'
    Silence round the table.
    It was clear now to the High Priestess that the witch had
given this meeting considerable thought, until arriving at
the one suggestion she considered most likely to trigger
alarm. As if we Tiste Andii are but taller, black-skinned
versions of humans. As if we could so easily be . . . stolen
away.
    Emboldened, the witch resumed. 'High Priestess, Salind
– she needs help. We need help. There was a warrior, one
among you, but he has disappeared. Now that Seerdomin is
dead, I sought to find him. Spinnock Durav.'
    The High Priestess rose. 'Come with me, Witch,' she
said. 'Just you and me. Come, it's not far.'
    The old woman levered herself upright, confusion in her
small eyes.
    To a side passage, a narrow corridor of twenty paces,
and then down a short flight of stairs, the air still smelling
of fresh-chiselled basalt, into a large but low-vaulted
octagonal chamber devoid of any furniture, the floor of
which was inlaid with onyx tesserae, irregular in shape and
size. A journey of but a few moments for most people; yet
for the witch it was an ordeal, striking the High Priestess
with the poignancy of the old woman's desperation – that
she should so subject herself to such a struggle. The trek
from her home through the city to the keep must have
been an epic undertaking.
    These thoughts battered at the High Priestess's impatience,
and so she weathered the delay saying nothing and
without expression on her smooth, round face.
    As soon as the witch tottered into the chamber, she
gasped.
    'Yes, you are clearly an adept,' observed the High
Priestess. 'There are nodes of power in this temple. Kurald
Galain, the cleansing darkness.' She could see that the
witch was breathing hard and fast, and there was a look
of wonder on that sweat-sheathed face. 'Do not be alarmed
at what you feel inside,' she said. 'By entering here, you
have drawn Kurald Galain into your body, in your breaths,
through the very pores of your