Steven Erikson - Memories of Ice

Nightchill's strength of will.

Tattersail's empathy.

Bellurdan's loyalty.

A Rhivi child's wonder.

None were enough. None could of themselves — or together — absolve what has been done, the choices made, the denials voiced.

Leave them. Leave them to this, to all of this, and all that is to come. Silverfox turned away. 'Find her, then. Go.'

'Will you not walk with us? Your gift to her-'

'Go.'

My gift to her. My gift to you. They are all as one. Grand failures, defeats born from the flaws within me. I will not stand witness to my own shame — I cannot. I have not the courage for that.

I'm sorry.

She walked away.

Brief flower. Seed to stalk to deadly blossom, all in the span of a single day. Bright-burning poison, destroying all who came too close.

An abomination.

The Rhivi spirits — a small band, men, women, children and elders, wearing hides and furs, their round faces burnished by sun and wind — watched Silverfox leave them. The elder who had spoken with her did not move until she slipped out of sight beneath the rim of a worn beach ridge, then he ran the back of four spread fingers across his eyes in a gesture of sad departing, and said, 'Build a fire. Prepare the ranag's shoulder blade. We have walked this land enough to see the map within.'

'Once more,' an old woman sighed.

The elder shrugged. 'The Bonecaster commanded that we find her mother.'

'She will simply flee us again. As she did the ay. Like a hare-'

'None the less. The Bonecaster has commanded. We shall lay the blade upon the flames. We shall see the map find its shape.'

'And why should it be true this time?'

The elder slowly lowered himself to press a hand down on the soft mosses. 'Why? Open your senses, doubting one. This land …' he smiled, 'now lives.'

Running.

Free!

Riding the soul of a god, within the muscles of a fierce, ancient beast. Riding a soul -

— suddenly singing with joy. Mosses and lichen beneath the paws, spray of old rain water to streak the leg-fur. Smell of rich, fertile life — a world -Running. Pain already a fading memory, vague recollections of a cage of bone, growing pressure, ever more shallow breaths.

Throwing head back, loosing a thunderous howl that trembled the sky.

Distant answers.

Which drew closer.

Shapes, grey, brown and black flashes of movement on the tundra, streaming over ridges, sweeping down into shallow valleys, broad moraines. Ay. Kin. The children of Baaljagg — of Fanderay — ghost memories that were the souls of the T'lan Ay. Baaljagg had not released them, had held to them, within herself, within her dreams — in an ageless world into which an Elder God had breathed eternal life.

Ay.

Their god had challenged the heavens with his bestial voice, and now they came to him.

And. another.

Togg slowed, head lifting — the ay all around him now, clan after clan, long-legged tundra wolves, swirling -

She was here. She had come.

She had found him.

Running. Coming nearer. Shoulder to shoulder with Baaljagg, with the ay who had carried her wounded, lost soul for so long. Baaljagg, coming to rejoin her kin — the kin of her dreams.

Emotions. Beyond measure -

Then, Fanderay was padding at his side.

Their beast-minds touched. A moment. Nothing else. Nothing more was needed.

Together, shoulders brushing -

Two ancient wolves. God and goddess.

He looked upon them, without knowing who he, himself, was; nor even where he might be, that he might so witness this reunion. Looked, and, for these two, knew nothing but gentle joy. Running.

Ahead awaited their thrones.

The Mhybe's head snapped up, her body stiffening, writhing in an attempt to break his grip. Small as he was, his strength defeated her.

'Wolves, lass. We've nothing to fear.'

Nothing to fear. Lies. They have hunted me. Again and again. Pursuing me across this empty land. And now, listen, they come once more. And this Daru who drags me, he has not even so much as a knife.

'Something ahead,' Kruppe gasped, shifting his awkward embrace as he staggered under her weight. 'Easier,' he panted, 'when you were but a hag! Now, but you found the will, you could throw me down — nay! You could carry me!'

Will. Need I only find the will? To break from this grip? To flee?

Flee where?

'Lass, hear Kruppe's words! He begs you! This — this world — Kruppe's dream no longer! Do you understand? It must pass from me. It must be passed on!'

They were stumbling up a gentle slope.

Wolves howled behind them, fast approaching.

Leave me.

'Dearest Mhybe, so aptly named! You are the vessel in truth, now! Within you — take this dream from me. Allow it to fill your spirit. Kruppe must pass it on to you — do you understand?'

Will.

She twisted suddenly, threw an elbow into Kruppe's stomach. He gasped, doubled over. She pulled herself free as he fell, leapt to her feet-Behind them, tens of thousands of wolves. Charging towards her. And, leading them, two gigantic beasts that radiated blinding power.

The Mhybe cried out, spun.

A shallow depression before her. A long, low hut of arched bones, hides, bound with hemp rope, the entrance yawning wide.

And, standing in a clump before the hut, a band of Rhivi.

The Mhybe staggered towards them.

Wolves were suddenly all around, flowing in a wild, chaotic circle around the hut. Ignoring the Rhivi. Ignoring her.

Groaning, Kruppe levered himself, after a couple of tries, to his feet. Weaving, he joined her. She stared at him without comprehension.

He drew a faded handkerchief from his sleeve and daubed the sweat from his brow. 'Any lower with that elbow, dear …'

'What? What is happening?'

Kruppe paused, looked around. 'They are within, then.'

'Who?'

'Why, Togg and Fanderay, of course. Come to claim the Beast Throne. Or, in this case, Thrones. Not that, should we enter the hut, we will see two wolves perched on chairs, of course. Presence alone asserts possession, no doubt. Kruppe's imagination tempts other, shall we say, prosaic images, but best avoid those, yes? Now, lass, permit Kruppe to edge back. Those who approach you now — well, this is the passing of a dream, from one to the other, and into the background noble Kruppe must now go.'

She swung round.

A Rhivi elder faced her, face creasing in a sad smile. 'We asked her to come with us,' he said.

The Mhybe frowned. 'Asked who?'

'Your daughter. This world — it is for you. Indeed, it exists within you. With this world, your daughter asks for forgiveness.'

'S-she made this-'

'There were many participants, each and all driven by the injustice that befell you. There was… desperation, the day your daughter was … created. The one known as Kruppe. The Elder God, K'rul. The one named Pran Chole. And yourself. And, when she gathered us within her, ourselves as well. Silverfox sought to answer yet more — the tragedy that are the T'lan Imass and the T'lan Ay. It may be,' he added, one hand making a faint gesture of bereavement, 'that what her heart sought has proved too vast-'

'Where is she? Where is my daughter?'

The elder shook his head. 'Despair has taken her. Away.'

The Mhybe fell silent. I was hunted. You were hunting me. And the ay. She looked down, slowly raised her youthful limbs. Is this real, then? She slowly turned about, looked across to meet Kruppe's eyes.