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February 19 - March 6, 2014
‘I know. You cannot win.’ Cotillion paused, half turned. He smiled a ravaged smile. ‘That doesn’t mean I have to lose, does it?’
Silence ever spoke of absence.
The air about Kadagar remains brittle. This flower shivers to secret winds.
Crippled, yes, my precious flesh and bones upon this wretched world.
See how I have changed. My pain, which I held on to so selfishly, now reaches out like a broken hand. We touch in understanding, we flinch at the touch. I am one with them all, now.
God looks into your eyes, and God cringes.’
Someone cut out my unease, please. Make clean the incision, take out what’s ill and leave me free of it. We are sickened by the unknown, but knowledge can prove poisonous.
Against a broken heart, even absurdity falters.”’ ‘“Because words fall away.”’ Fingers fluttered in the glow. ‘“A dialogue of silence.”’ ‘“That deafens.”’
K’rul seemed to study the fire. Eventually, he said, ‘In these dark waters, one cannot feel one’s own tears.’ Mael’s reply was bitter. ‘Why do you think I live here?’
Guilt is the first weed we pluck, to keep the garden pretty and smelling sweet.
‘Noto, do you understand anything I say? Ever?’ ‘I try not to, sir. No offence.
She said, ‘You have a damned miserable way of talking your way into my bed, Karsa Orlong. Fine then, get in. Just don’t break me.’ ‘I only break what I do not want.’ ‘And if the days of this relationship are numbered?’ ‘They are,’ he replied, and then he grinned. ‘But not the nights.’
“Courting is the art of growing like mould on the one you want.”’
‘Traditional wars,’ Mappo mused, ‘are fomented in the winter, when the walls close in and there is too much time on one’s hands. The barons brood, the kings scheme, raiders plot their passages through borderlands. The wolves howl in winter. But come the season’s turn, summer is born to the savagery of blades and spears – the savagery of the tiger.’
A spasm. She stifled a gasp, waited out the throbs, and then sought to shift position once more, not that one was more comfortable than any other. More a matter of duration. Twenty breaths lying this way, fifteen that way, and flat on her back was impossible – she’d never imagined how the weight of her own tits could crush the breath from her, and the gentle sweep of the furs threatened to close like a vice when she thought of settling her arms. It was all impossible, and come the dawn she’d be ready to snap off heads.
Sudden emotion gripped him and he fought back a sob. All gone. Why am I still alive? Why do I cling to this misery, this empty life? When you are the last, there is no reason to keep living. All of your veins are cut, the blood drains and drains and there’s no end to it. Redmask, you murdered us all.
Gruntle withdrew his weapons, stumbled back a step. He was muttering something under his breath. Precious Thimble caught only a few words. In the Daru tongue. ‘The banner…child’s tunic, was that it? The colour…began red, ended…black.’
Is it not the one inescapable responsibility of an adult to protect and defend a child?
‘Not your charge, but mine. Why do you do this?’ ‘I knew Toc.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I think: what would he do? That is my answer, Setoc.’
‘“The past is a demon that not even death can shake.”’
There’s plenty of dignity in just holding on. The way Ma did.
When intelligence was first born, the first question asked was, “Can this thing be cooked?”
Select for me a worthy outfit, something both lithe and flaunting, as befits my sudden maturity. Fifteen! Gods, the slide has begun!’
There are many forms of courage, I believe, most of which pass unseen by the majority of us. It’s not always about facing death, is it? Sometimes it’s about facing life.’
‘Forgive me for interrupting, Highness, but it has just occurred to me that this particular contest of understatement is about to be fatally terminated. While I have thoroughly enjoyed it, I now believe you have been a truly unwitting participant.
What did we do wrong? Nothing, we didn’t change a thing. We lived as we’d always lived. And it was murderous. The wild beasts vanished. The land dried up.
‘They are tall, gaunt. Their skin is white as alabaster, and their limbs do not move as do those of humans. From their elbows, they can bend their lower arms in all directions. It is said their bodies are hinged, as if they had two sets of hips, one stacked atop the other. And they can stand like us, or with legs like those of a horse. No weapon can reach them, and a single touch from their long fingers can shatter all the bones in a warrior’s body. Sorcerous attacks drain down from them like water.’
‘Well, who’s a better Shield Anvil than a man with an anvil for a head?’
Spax made a point of keeping his shell-armour loose, the plates clacking freely, and with all the fetishes tied everywhere he was well pleased with the concatenation of sounds when he walked.
Some scholar was working hard to justify her habit. Stupid woman. It’s yours, so just revel in it and when it comes to justifying what you do, keep your mouth shut. Philosophy, really.
‘I have never been in love before. Not like this. I have never before felt so…helpless. As if, without my even noticing, I gave you all my power.’
‘The prince and the princess, each heroic and strong, equals in the grand love they win. The tale ends in mutual admiration.’ ‘That tastes a tad sour.’ ‘That taste is of self-congratulation,’ she said. ‘Those tales are all about narcissism. The sleight of hand lies in the hero’s mirror image – a princess for a prince, a prince for a princess – but in truth it’s all one. It’s nobility’s love for itself. Heroes win the most beautiful lovers, it’s the reward for their bravery and virtue.’
He stared at the tent wall, listened to his own pointless breaths. I know what this is. It is fear. For all my life it has waited for me, out in the cold night. I have done terrible things, and my punishment draws near. Please, hurry. For this night, it is very cold, and it draws ever nearer.
We’re the walking dead. What more do you want of us, Tavore?
Oh, if Raband shows up with Pores any time soon, promote the good captain. Omnipotent Overseer of the Universe should suit.
The dead didn’t have anything to say, either, but everyone still sat, listening for them.
‘It was the Shadow Dance. It was every Shadow Dance.’ She met his eyes suddenly. ‘It wasn’t me. I just slipped back, inside, and just like you, I watched.’ ‘If not you, then who?’ ‘The Rope. Cotillion, the Patron God of Assassins.’ She grimaced. ‘He took over. He’s done things like that before, I think.’
‘What I lack is proof to the contrary, sir. I ain’t seen it yet, in all my years. What do you think makes criminals in the first place?’ ‘Stupidity and greed.’ ‘Besides those? I’ll tell you. It’s looking around, real carefully. It’s seeing what’s really there, and who wins every time, and it’s deciding that despair tastes like shit. It’s deciding to do whatever it takes to sneak through, to win what you can for yourself. It’s also condemning your fellow humans to whatever misery finds them – even if that misery is by your own hand. To hurt another human being is to announce your hatred of
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Make getting rich the reward and they’ll eat their own children before backing a single step.’
I will give you worlds. Yet not one shall be your home. You are cursed to wander through them, trapped in your eternal games. Lord and Lady of Chance. In the language of the Azathanai, Oponn.
She is the one law amidst the chaos of the Eleint. She is the denial of their power. She is the will set free. It’s not enough to bleed her. She needs to die. And not even Kilmandaros can do that. Not with this one. At least, not now, while the gate is still sealed. She needs to die, but she must first be freed. Against the madness of such contradictions, I wagered my very life. I walked into the heart of Chaos to challenge the absurdity of existence. And for that, I was torn in two. My modest achievement.
Suffering’s comfort. Like a dead mother’s embrace.
I am the slayer of children – your children – no! Show me no horror! Your hands are red with the blood of my children! You cannot kill us any more, but we can kill you, and so we shall. We are the sword of ancient memories. Memories of fire, memories of ice, memories of the pain you delivered upon us. I shall answer your crime. I shall be the hand of your utter annihilation. Every last child. I am Onos T’oolan and once, I was an Imass. Once, I looked upon flowers dancing in the wind.
There is a dead seedling in you, Bonecaster. A shrunken, lifeless thing. In others, it lives on, sometimes frail and starving, sometimes thriving with sweet anguish. That seedling, Olar Ethil, has a name, and even the name would twist sour upon your lips. The name is compassion.
We were you before you were born. Do not forget us. And in your memory, I beg of you, let us stand tall and proud. Leave to us our footprints in the sand, there to mark the trail you now tread, so that you understand – wherever you go, we were there first.
Her love was for a memory, and the memory was flawed.
Your inability to feel is not a virtue. And your smile has cracks.
Classic Malazan military structure at work here, woman. Short, violent discussion and that’s it. We don’t wait around.
‘When your death is already inside you, there is nowhere to run, no escape possible. When your death is already inside you, Sinn, you have nothing to lose.’
That is why I rode the lizard’s lightning, that brilliant fire. I rode it straight for Keneb. I didn’t guide it, I didn’t choose it, but I understood the necessity of it, the rightness of taking away the one person left who loved you. Do not grieve. You have me, Grub. We have each other, and what could be more perfect than that?
