Had he possessed a soul, Onrack would have felt it grow cold as ice. As it was, the warrior slowly turned in the wake of Trull Sengar’s words.
‘Pressures and forces are ever in opposition,’ the Edur was saying as he rotated the spitted hare over the flames. ‘And the striving is ever towards a balance. This is beyond the gods, of course-it is the current of existence-but no, beyond even that, for existence itself is opposed by oblivion. It is a struggle that encompasses all, that defines every island in the Abyss. Or so I now believe. Life is answered by death. Dark by light. Overwhelming success by catastrophic failure. Horrific curse by breathtaking blessing. It seems the inclination of all people to lose sight of that truth, particularly when blinded by triumph upon triumph. See before me, if you will, this small fire. A modest victory… but if I feed it, my own eager delight is answered, until this entire plain is aflame, then the forest, then the world itself. Thus, an assertion of wisdom here… in the quenching of these flames once this meat is cooked. After all, igniting this entire world will also kill everything in it, if not in flames then in subsequent starvation. Do you see my point, Monok Ochem?’
‘I do not, Trull Sengar. This prefaces nothing.’
Onrack spoke. ‘You are wrong, Monok Ochem. It prefaces… everything.’
Trull Sengar glanced over, and answered with a smile.
Of sadness overwhelming. Of utter… despair.
And the undead warrior was shaken.
A succession of ridges ribboned the landscape, seeming to slowly melt as sand drifted down from the sky.
‘Soon,’ Pearl murmured, ‘those beach ridges will vanish once more beneath dunes.’
Lostara shrugged. ‘We’re wasting time,’ she pronounced, then set off towards the first ridge. The air was thick with settling dust and sand, stinging the eyes and parching the throat. Yet the haze served to draw the horizons closer, to make their discovery increasingly unlikely. The sudden demise of the Whirlwind Wall suggested that the Adjunct and her army had reached Raraku, were even now marching upon the oasis. She suspected that there would be few, if any, scouts patrolling the northeast approaches.
Pearl had announced that it was safe now to travel during the day. The goddess had drawn inward, concentrating her power for, perhaps, one final, explosive release. For the clash with the Adjunct. A singularity of purpose locked in rage, a flaw that could be exploited.
She allowed herself a private smile at that. Flaws. No shortage of those hereabouts, is there? Their moment of wild passion had passed, as far as she was concerned. The loosening of long pent-up energies-now that it was done, they could concentrate on other things. More important things. It seemed, however, that Pearl saw it differently. He’d even tried to take her hand this morning, a gesture that she decisively rebuffed despite its pathos. The deadly assassin was on the verge of transforming into a squirming pup-disgust threatened to overwhelm her, so she shifted her thoughts onto another track.
They were running short on time, not to mention food and water. Raraku was a hostile land, resentful of whatever life dared exploit it. Not holy at all, but cursed. Devourer of dreams, destroyer of ambitions. And why not? It’s a damned desert.
Clambering over the cobbles and stones, they reached the first ridge.
‘We’re close,’ Pearl said, squinting ahead. ‘Beyond that higher terrace, we should come within sight of the oasis.’
‘And then what?’ she asked, brushing dust from her tattered clothes.
‘Well, it would be remiss of me not to take advantage of our position-I should be able to infiltrate the camp and stir up some trouble. Besides,’ he added, ‘one of the trails I am on leads into the heart of that rebel army.’
The Talons. The master of that revived cult. ‘Are you so certain of that?’
He nodded, then half shrugged. ‘Reasonably. I have come to believe that the rebellion was compromised long ago, perhaps from the very start. That the aim of winning independence for Seven Cities was not quite as central to some as it should have been, and indeed, that those hidden motives are about to be unveiled.’
‘And it is inconceivable to you that such unveilings should occur without your hand in their midst.’
He glanced at her. ‘My dear, you forget, I am an agent of the Malazan Empire. I have certain responsibilities…’
Her eyes lit on an object lying among the cobbles-a momentary recognition, then her gaze quickly shifted away. She studied the murky sky. ‘Has it not occurred to you that your arrival might well jeopardize missions already under way in the rebel camp? The Empress does not know you’re here. In fact, even the Adjunct likely believes we are far away from this place.’
‘I am not uncomfortable with a supporting role-’
Lostara snorted.
‘Well,’ he amended, ‘such a role is not entirely reprehensible. I can live with it.’
Liar. She settled down on one knee to adjust the greaves lashed to her leather-clad shins. ‘We should be able to make that terrace before the sun sets.’
‘Agreed.’
She straightened.
They made their way down the rock-studded slope. The ground was littered with the tiny, shrivelled bodies of countless desert creatures that had been swept up into the Whirlwind, dying within that interminable storm yet remaining suspended within it until, with the wind’s sudden death, falling to earth once more. They had rained down for a full day, husks clattering and crunching on all sides, pattering on her helm and skidding from her shoulders. Rhizan, capemoths and other minuscule creatures, for the most part, although occasionally something larger had thumped to the ground. Lostara was thankful that the downpour had ended.
‘The Whirlwind has not been friendly to Raraku,’ Pearl commented, kicking aside the corpse of an infant bhok’aral.
‘Assuming the desert cares one way or another, which it doesn’t, I doubt it will make much difference in the long run. A land’s lifetime is far vaster than anything with which we are familiar, vaster, by far, than the spans of these hapless creatures. Besides, Raraku is already mostly dead.’
‘Appearances deceive. There are deep spirits in this Holy Desert, lass. Buried in the rock-’
‘And the life upon that rock, like the sands,’ Lostara asserted, ‘means nothing to those spirits. You are a fool to think otherwise, Pearl.’
‘I am a fool to think many things,’ he muttered.
‘Do not expect me to object to that observation.’
‘It never crossed my mind that you might, Lostara Yil. In any case, I would none the less advise that you cultivate a healthy respect for the mysteries of Raraku. It is far too easy to be blindsided in this seemingly empty and lifeless desert.’
‘As we’ve already discovered.’
He frowned, then sighed. ‘I regret that you view… things that way, and can only conclude that you derive a peculiar satisfaction from discord, and when it does not exist-or, rather, has no reason to exist-you seek to invent it.’
‘You think too much, Pearl. It’s your most irritating flaw, and, let us be honest, given the severity and sheer volume of your flaws, that is saying something. Since this seems to be a time for advice, I suggest you stop thinking entirely.’
‘And how might I achieve that? Follow your lead, perhaps?’
‘I think neither too much nor too little. I am perfectly balanced-this is what you find so attractive. As a capemoth is drawn to fire.’
‘So I am in danger of being burned up?’
‘To a blackened, shrivelled crust.’
‘So, you’re pushing me away for my own good. A gesture of compassion, then.’
‘Fires neither push nor pull. They simply exist, compassionless, indifferent to the suicidal urges of flitting bugs. That is another one of your flaws, Pearl. Attributing emotion where none exists.’