Steven Erikson - Memories of Ice

Murillio stepped into view.

'A moment there,' Coll growled.

'Now what? The beetle flipped on its back? The worm circling the hole?'

'A question, Murillio.'

'All right, if you insist.'

'Did you ever hear tell of a child born to Simtal?'

He watched his friend's face slowly close, the eyes narrowing. 'That is a question not to be asked in this temple, Coll.'

'I'm asking it none the less.'

'I do not think you're ready-'

'Not for you to judge and you should know better, Murillio. Dammit, I've been sitting on the Council for months! And I'm still not ready? What absurdity is-'

'All right all right! It's just this: there's only rumours.'

'Don't lie to me.'

'I'm not. There was a span of more than a few months — just after your, uh, demise — when she made no public appearance. Explained away as mourning, of course, though everyone knew-'

'Yes, I know what everyone knew. So she hid out for a time. Go on.'

'Well, we believed she was consolidating her position. Behind the scenes. Rallick was keeping an eye on her. At least I think he was. He'd know more.'

'And you two never discussed the details of what she was up to, what she looked like? Murillio-'

'Well, what would Rallick know of mothering?'

'When they're with child, their bellies swell and their breasts get bigger. I'm sure our assassin friend has seen one or two so-afflicted women on Darujhistan's streets — did he just think they were eating melons whole?'

'No need to be sarcastic, Coll. All I'm saying is, he wasn't sure.'

'What about the estate's servants? Any women who'd just given birth?'

'Rallick never mentioned-'

'My, what an observant assassin.'

'Fine!' Murillio snapped. 'Here's what I think! She had a child. She sent it away. Somewhere. She wouldn't have abandoned it, because at some point she would have wanted to use it, as a verifiable heir, as marriage-bait, whatever. Simtal was lowborn; whatever contacts she had from her past were private ones — kept from everyone but those involved, including you, as you well know. I think she sent the child that way, somewhere no-one would think of looking.'

'Almost three, now,' Coll said, slowly leaning back to rest his head against the wall. He closed his eyes. 'Three years of age …'

'Maybe so. But at the time there wasn't any way of finding-'

'You'd have needed my blood. Then Baruk…'

'Right,' Murillio snapped, 'we'd just go and bleed you one night when you were passed-out drunk.'

'Why not?'

'Because, you ox, back then, there didn't seem much point!'

'Fair enough. But I've walked a straight line for months now, Murillio.'

'Then you do it, Coll. Go to Baruk.'

'I will. Now that I know.'

'Listen, friend, I've known a lot of drunks in my time. You look at four, five months being sober and think it's eternity. But me, I see a man still brushing the puke from his clothes. A man who could get knocked right back down. I wasn't going to push — it's too soon-'

'I hear you. I don't curse your decision, Murillio. You were right to be cautious. But what I see — what I see now, that is — is a reason. Finally, a real reason to hold myself up.'

'Coll, I hope you're not thinking you can just walk into whatever household your child's being raised in and take it away-'

'Why not? It's mine.'

'And there's a place waiting for it on your mantelpiece, right?'

'You think I can't raise a child?'

'I know you can't, Coll. But, if you do this right, you can pay to see it grow up well, with opportunities that it might not otherwise have.'

'A hidden benefactor. Huh. That would be … noble.'

'Be honest: it would be convenient, Coll. Not noble, not heroic.'

'And you call yourself a friend.'

'I do.'

Coll sighed. 'And so you should, though I don't know what I've done to deserve such friendship.'

'Since I don't want to depress you further, we'll discuss that subject some other time.'

The massive stone doors to the chamber of the sepulchre swung open.

Grunting, Coll rose from the bench.

The Knight of Death stepped into the hallway to stand directly before Murillio. 'Bring the woman,' the warrior said. 'The preparations are complete.'

Coll strode to the entrance and looked within. A large hole had been carved through the floor's solid stone in the centre of the chamber. Shattered stone rose in heaps banked against a side wall. Suddenly chilled, the Daru pushed past the Knight of Death. 'Hood's breath!' he exclaimed. 'That's a damned sarcophagus!'

'What?' Murillio cried, rushing to join Coll. He stared at the burial pit, then spun to the Knight. 'The Mhybe's not dead, you fool!'

The warrior's lifeless eyes fixed on Coll's companion. 'The preparations,' he said, 'are complete.'

Ankle-deep in dust, she stumbled across a wasteland. The tundra had disintegrated, and with it the hunters, the demonic pursuers who had been such unwelcome company for so long. The desolation surrounding her was, she realized, far worse. No grasses underfoot, no sweet cool wind. The hum of the blackfiies was gone, those avid companions so eager to feed on her flesh — though her scalp still crawled as if some had survived the devastation.

And she was weakening, her youthful muscles failing in some undefinable way. Not weariness alone, but some kind of chronic dissolution. She was losing her substantiality, and that realization was the most terrifying of all.

The sky overhead was colourless, devoid of cloud or even sun, yet faintly illuminated by some unseen source. It seemed impossibly distant — to look upward for too long was to risk madness, mind railing at its inability to comprehend what the eyes were seeing.

So she held her gaze fixed directly ahead as she staggered on. There was nothing to mark the horizon in any direction. She might well be walking in circles for all she knew, though if so it was a vast circle, for she'd yet to cross her own path. She had no destination in mind for this journey of the spirit; nor the will to seek to fashion one in this deathly dreamscape, had she known how.

Her lungs ached, as if they too were losing their ability to function. Before long, she believed, she herself would begin to dissolve, this young body defeated in a way that was opposite to what she had feared for so long. She would not be torn to pieces by wolves. The wolves were gone. No, she knew now that nothing had been as it had seemed — it had all been something different, something secret, a riddle she'd yet to work out. And now it was too late. Oblivion had come for her.

The Abyss she had seen in her nightmares of so long ago had been a place of chaos, of frenzied feeding on souls, of miasmic memories detached and flung on storm winds. Perhaps those visions had been the products of her own mind, after all. The true Abyss was what she was now seeing, on all sides, in every direction -Something broke the horizon's flat line, something monstrous and crouched, bestial, off to her right. It had not been there a moment ago.

Or perhaps it had. Perhaps this world itself was shrinking, and her few frail steps had unveiled what lay beyond the land's curvature.

She moaned in sudden terror, even as her steps shifted direction, drew her towards the apparition.

It grew visibly larger with every stride she took, swelled horribly until it claimed a third of the sky. Pink-Streaked, raw bones, rising upward, a cage of ribs, each rib scarred, knotted with malignant growths, calcifications, porous nodes, cracks, twists and fissures. Between each bone, skin was stretched, enclosing whatever lay within. Blood vessels spanned the skin, pulsing like red lightning, flickering and dimming before her eyes.