‘Believe nothing she says!’
‘This is not a request, Talamandas.’
With a mocking cackle the sticksnare darted past, bounding like a bee-stung hare on to the trail of the war-party.
‘There is no use in doing that,’ Setoc said. ‘This entire clan is doomed.’
‘Such pronouncements weary me,’ Cafal replied. ‘You are like a poison thorn in this clan’s heart, stealing its strength, its pride.’
‘Is that why you’ve come?’ she asked. ‘To… pluck out this thorn?’
‘If I must.’
‘Then why are you waiting?’
‘I would know the source of your pronouncements, Setoc. Are you plagued with visions? Do spirits visit your dreams? What have you seen? What do you know?’
‘The rhinazan whisper in my ear,’ she said.
Was she taunting him? ‘Winged lizards do not whisper anything, Setoc.’
‘No?’
‘No. Is nonsense all you can give me? Am I to be nothing but the object of your contempt?’
‘The Awl warrior, the one so aptly named Torrent, has found the war-party. He adds to your doll’s exhortations. But… the warleader is young. Fearless. Why do the fools choose one such as that?’
‘When older warriors see a pack of wardogs drag themselves into the camp,’ said Cafal, ‘they hold a meeting to discuss matters. The young ones clutch their weapons and leap to their feet, eyes blazing.’
‘It is a wonder,’ she observed, ‘that any warrior ever manages to get old.’
Yes. It is.
‘The Awl has convinced them.’
‘Not Talamandas?’
‘No. They say dead warlocks never have anything good to say. They say your sticksnare kneels at the foot of the Death Reaper. They call it a Malazan puppet.’
By the spirits, I cannot argue against any of that!
‘You sense all that takes place on these plains, Setoc. What do you know of the enemy that killed the scouts?’
‘Only what the rhinazan whisper, Great Warlock.’
Winged lizards again… spirits below! ‘In our homeland, on the high desert mesas, there are smaller versions that are called rhizan.’
‘Smaller, yes.’
He frowned. ‘Meaning?’
She shrugged. ‘Just that. Smaller.’
He wanted to shake her, rattle loose her secrets. ‘Who killed our scouts?’
She bared her teeth but did not face him. ‘I have already told you, Great Warlock. Tell me, have you seen the green spears in the sky at night?’
‘Of course.’
‘What are they?’
‘I don’t know. Things have been known to fall from the sky, whilst others simply pass by like wagons set ablaze, crossing the firmament night after night for weeks or months… and then vanishing as mysteriously as they arrived.’
‘Uncaring of the world below.’
‘Yes. The firmament is speckled with countless worlds no different from ours. To the stars and to the great burning wagons, we are as motes of dust.’
She turned to study him as he spoke these words. ‘That is… interesting. This is what the Barghast believe?’
‘What do the wolves believe, Setoc?’
‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘when a hunter throws a javelin at a fleeing antelope, does the hunter aim at the beast?’
‘Yes and no. To strike true, the hunter must throw into the space in front of the antelope-into the path it will take.’ He studied her. ‘Are you saying that these spears of green fire are the javelins of a hunter, and that we are the antelope?’
‘And if the antelope darts this way, dodges that?’
‘A good hunter will not miss.’
The war-party had reappeared on the ridge, and accompanying it was the Awl warrior on his horse, along with two more dogs.
Cafal said, ‘I will find Stolmen, now. He will want to speak with you, Setoc.’ He hesitated, and then added, ‘Perhaps the Gadra warchief can glean clearer answers from you, for in that I have surely failed.’
‘The wolves are clear enough,’ she replied, ‘when speaking of war. All else confuses them.’
‘So you indeed serve the Lady and Lord of the Beast Throne. As would a priestess.’
She shrugged.
‘Who,’ Cafal asked again, ‘is the enemy?’
Setoc looked at him. ‘The enemy, Great Warlock, is peace.’ And she smiled.
The ribbers had dragged Visto’s body a dozen or so paces out into the flat, until something warned them against eating the wrinkled, leathery flesh of the dead boy. With the dawn, Badalle and a few others walked out to stand round the shrunken, stomach-burst thing that had once been Visto.
The others waited for Badalle to find her words.
Rutt was late in arriving as he had to check on Held and make adjustments to the baby’s wrap. By the time he joined them, Badalle was ready. ‘Hear me, then,’ she said, ‘at Visto’s deading.’
She blew flies from her lips and then scanned the faces arrayed round her. There was an expression she wanted to find, but couldn’t. Even remembering what it looked like was hard, no, impossible. She’d lost it, truth be told. But wanted it, and she knew she would recognize it as soon as she saw it again. An expression… some kind of expression… what was it? After a moment, she spoke,
‘We all come from some place
And Visto was no different
He come
From some
Place
And it was different and
It was the same no different
If you know what I mean
And you do
You have to
All you standing here
The point is that Visto
He couldn’t remember
Anything about that place
Except that he come from it
And that’s like lots of you
So let’s say now
He’s gone back there
To that place
Where he come from
And everything he sees
He remembers
And everything he remembers
Is new’
They always waited, never knowing if she was finished until it became obvious that she was, and in that time Badalle looked down at Visto. The eggs of the Satra Riders clung like crumbs to Visto’s lips, as if he had been gobbling down cake. The adult riders had chewed out through his stomach and no one knew where they went, maybe into the ground-they did all that at night.
Maybe some of the ribbers had been careless, with their eager jaws and all, which was good since then there’d be fewer of them strong enough to launch attacks on the ribby snake. It wasn’t as bad having them totter along in the distance, keeping pace, getting weaker just as the children did, until they lay down and weren’t trouble any more. You could live with that, no different from the crows and vultures overhead. Animals showed, didn’t they, how to believe in patience.
She lifted her head and as if that was a signal the others turned away and walked slowly back to the trail where the ones who could were standing, getting ready for the day’s march.
Rutt said, ‘I liked Visto.’
‘We all liked Visto.’
‘We shouldn’t have.’
‘No.’
‘Because that makes it harder.’
‘The Satra Riders liked Visto too, even more than we did.’
Rutt shifted Held from the crook of his right arm into the crook of his left arm. ‘I’m mad at Visto now.’
Brayderal, who had showed up to walk at the snake’s head only two days ago-maybe coming from back down the snake’s body, maybe coming from somewhere else-walked out to stand close to them, as if she wanted to be part of something. Something made up of Rutt and Held and Badalle. But whatever that something was, it had no room for Brayderal. Visto’s deading didn’t leave a hole. The space just closed up.