A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

will
charge. Will sweep over us.
    Ditch looked about with his one eye – only to realize
that it was still shut, gummed solid, that maybe he had no
eye left at all, and that what he was seeing through was the
pattern etched in black ink on his eyelid. The god's eye? The
pattern's eye? How is it I can see at all? Draconus stood facing their wake, the convulsing figure
at his feet forgotten for the moment.
    Such studied belligerence, such a heroic pose, the kind
that should be sculpted in immortal bronze. Heroism that
needed the green stains of verdigris, the proof of centuries
passed since last such noble forces existed in the world –
any world, whatever world; no matter, details unimportant.
The statue proclaims the great age now lost, the virtues
left behind.
    Civilizations made sure their heroes were dead before
they honoured them. Virtue belonged to the dead, not the
living. Everyone knew this. Lived with this, this permanent
fall from grace that was the present age. The legacy
squandered, because this was what people did with things
they themselves have not earned.
    He studied Draconus, and the man seemed to darken,
blur, become strangely indistinct. Ditch gasped, and in the
next instant Draconus was once more as he had always
been.
    So little of his mind was left, so little of what could
be called his self , and these moments of clarity were fast
diminishing. Was there irony to be found, should the
chaos reach him only to find him already gone?
Draconus was suddenly crouched down beside him.
    'Ditch, listen to me. He's made you the nexus – you were
meant to be the god's eyes – no, its brain – your pattern, the
one upon your skin . . .'
    Ditch grunted, amused. 'Each soul begins with a single
word. He's written that word – on me. Identity is only
a pattern. The beginning form. The world – life and
experience – is Kadaspala, etching and etching the fine
details. By life's end, who can even make out that first
word?'
    'It is within you,' said Draconus, 'to break that pattern,
Ditch. Hold on to a part of yourself, hold tight to it – you
may need it—'
    'No, you may need it, Draconus.'
    'There can be no child-god. Not fashioned of this nightmare – can't you understand that? It would be a horrid,
terrible thing. Kadaspala is mad—'
    'Yes,' agreed Ditch, 'most unfortunate. Mad. Not a good
beginning, no.'
    'Hold on, Ditch.'
    'It's just a word.'
    Draconus stared down into that painted eye. Then he
rose, gathering up his chains, and moved out of Ditch's
limited range of vision.
    Kadaspala crawled close. 'He only wants to escape
escape escape. But you but you but you are the knot the
knot. Snapping tight! No one gets away. No one gets away.
No one gets away. Hold still hold still and hold still until
he awakens and he will awaken and so he will. Awaken. My
child. The word, you see, the word is the word is the word.
The word is kill.'
    Ditch smiled. Yes, he'd known that. He had.
    'Wait, sweet knot, and wait wait wait. Everything will
make sense. Everything. Promise promise I promise and I
do promise – for I have seen into the future. I know what's
coming. I know all the plans. Her brother died and he
should not have had to do that, no. No, he shouldn't have
had to do that. I do this for her for her for her. Only for
her.
    'Knot, I do this for her.'
    Kill , thought Ditch, nodding, kill, yes, I understand. I do.
Kill, for her. Kill. And he found that the word itself, yes, the
word itself, knew how to smile.
    Even as the ashes rained down.
    Beneath a sprawl of stars, Precious Thimble stood by the
side of the track, watching the carriage approach. The
repairs looked makeshift even in the gloom and the entire
contraption rocked and wobbled. She saw Glanno Tarp
perched on the high bench, his splinted legs splayed wide,
and the horses tossed their heads, ears flattened and eyes
rolling.
    Figures walked to either side. Mappo and Gruntle
on the left, Reccanto Ilk, the Boles and that wretched
Cartographer on the right. Master Quell, presumably, was
inside.
    Beside Precious, Faint muttered something under her
breath and then climbed to her feet. 'Wake up, Sweetest,
they're finally here.'
    From the town known as Reach of Woe, half a league
distant, not a single glimmer of light showed.
    Precious approached Gruntle. 'What happened back
there?'
    He shook his head. 'You truly do not want to know,
Witch.'
    'Why do Jaghut bother getting married at all?' Reccanto
asked, his face pale as the moon. 'Gods below, like