The Bonehunters (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #6)

by Steven Erikson

Felisin looked away. ‘We do that a lot, don’t we?’ ‘What?’ She shrugged. ‘Tell ourselves things. In the hope that it’ll make them true.’

Sympathy was like water in the desert. Hoarded, reluctantly meted out in the barest of sips. And he, Taralack Veed, could walk a thousand deserts on a single drop.

This war – so many lives, lost, all to bury the Elder Gods once and for all. That, my friends, is the heart of this war.

From the Shadow Realm, Mappo. In that realm, as you know, things can be in two places at once, or begin in one yet find itself eventually manifesting in another. Shadow wanders, and respects no borders.’

The Jhag halted and half-turned. ‘I am cursed. This is the secret you ever keep from me, isn’t it? There are…recollections. Fragments.’ He lifted a hand as if to brush his brow, then let it fall. ‘I sense…terrible things…’ ‘Yes. But they do not belong to you, Icarium. Not to the friend standing before me now.’ Icarium’s deepening frown tore at Mappo’s heart, but he would not look away, would not abandon his friend at this tortured moment. ‘You,’ Icarium said, ‘are my protector, but that protection is not as it seems. You are at my side, Mappo, to protect the world. From me.’ ‘It is not that simple.’ ‘Isn’t it?’ ‘No. I am here to protect the friend I look upon now, from the…the other Icarium…’

The future was not consciously rushed into – it was just the place you suddenly ended up in, battered and weary and wondering how in Hood’s name you got there.

It ain’t right but nothing ever is.

‘Paran.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Are you now ascended?’ His eyes widened. ‘I don’t know. Nothing feels different. I admit I’m not even sure what ascendancy means.’ ‘Means you’re harder to kill.’ ‘Why?’ ‘You have stumbled onto power, of a personal nature, and with it, well, power draws power. Always. Not the mundane kind, but something other, a force in nature, a confluence of energies. You begin to see things differently, to think differently. And others take notice of you

The assassin leaned back and studied Cotillion. ‘I didn’t really think you’d answer my prayer.’ ‘I am a god virtually brimming with surprises.’

Leoman faced him one more time, his voice almost pleading as he said, ‘My friend…’ Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas shook his head. ‘Did you not hear? Another Sha’ik – a new Sha’ik—’ ‘And will you find her a new army as well, Leoman? More fools to lead to their deaths? No, I am done with you, Leoman of the Flails. Take your Malazan wench and be gone from my sight. I choose to die here, with my fellow warriors.’ Dunsparrow reached out and grasped Leoman’s arm. ‘The portal’s crumbling, Leoman.’ The warrior, last commander of Dryjhna, turned away, and, the woman at his side, strode into the gate. Moments later it dissolved, and there was nothing.

And, somewhere in the depths beyond the bay, waited the Eldest God. Mael himself, that feeder on misery, the cruel taker of life and hope.

Ascendants who find worshippers become gods, and that binding goes both ways. Ascendants without worshippers are, in a sense, unchained. Unaligned, in the language of the Deck of Dragons.

‘So, to backtrack slightly, ascendants, whether gods or not, seem to possess some form of power. Maybe sorcery, maybe personality, maybe something else.

When an ascendant acts, ripples run through…everything.

I believe ascendancy is a natural phenomenon, an inevitable law of probability. Take a mass of people, anywhere, any kind, and eventually enough pressure will build and a mountain will rise, and it will have a peak. Which is why so many ascendants become gods – after the passing of generations, the great hero’s name becomes sacred, representative of some long-lost golden age, and so it goes.’

When wealth ascends to a point where the majority of the poor finally comprehend that it is, for each of them, unattainable, then all civility collapses, and anarchy prevails.