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The simplicity of blood, a detail whispering of antiquity, of primeval origins. A spirit, then, before whom a handful of savages once bowed. There had been many such entities, once, born of that primitive assertion of meaning to object, meaning shaped by symbols and portents, scratchings on rock-faces and in the depths of caves.
No shortage… but tribes died out, were wi
That some lingered was not surprising to Onrack. Even unto usurping the faith of a new tribe. What was new to the warrior, rising like a tightness into his desiccated throat, was the sense of… pathos.
In the name of purity, the Liosan worship their god. In the name of… of nostalgia, the god worships what was and shall never again return.
The spilling of blood was the deadliest of games.
As is about to be seen.
A harsh cry from the seneschal, and the flames rose into a wall on all sides, raging with unbridled power. Jorrude had laid open his left palm. Within the circle, a swirling wind rose, laden with the smells of a thaw-of spring in some northern clime.
Onrack turned to Trull. ‘Now.’
The Tiste Edur slashed the obsidian blade across the edge of his left hand, then stared down disbelieving at the gash-clear, the flesh neatly parted, frighteningly deep.
The blood emerged a moment later, welling forth, red roots racing and branching down his grey-ski
The gate seemed to tear itself open, surrounding the group within the circle. Spiralling tu
Onrack glanced over-to see Monok Ochem standing alone, head tilted back as the winds of Tella
The seneschal’s companions were now ru
Satisfied that the others were occupied-temporarily unmindful-Onrack dragged Trull close until their bodies made contact, the T’lan Imass managing a one-armed embrace. ‘Hold on to me,’ he rasped. ‘Trull Sengar, hold on to me-but free your left hand.’
Fingers clutched at Onrack’s ragged cloak, began dragging with growing weight. The T’lan Imass relinquished his one-armed hug and snapped out his hand-to close on Trull’s. The blood bit like acid into flesh that had forgotten pain. Onrack almost tore his grip free in the sudden, overwhelming agony, but then he tightened his hold and leaned close to the Tiste Edur. ‘Listen! I, Onrack, once of the Logros but now stranger to the Ritual, avow service to Trull Sengar of the Tiste Edur. I pledge to defend your life. This vow ca
Their hands still locked together, sealed for the moment by a slowing flow of blood, Onrack pulled Trull around until they faced one of the spiralling tu
Onrack saw the bonecaster wheel to face them. But the distance was too great, and the ritual had already begun tearing itself apart.
Then Monok Ochem veered into his Soletaken form. A blur, then a massive, hulking beast was thundering in pursuit.
Onrack sought to tear his grip from Trull to reach for his sword, to block the Soletaken and so ensure Trull’s escape-but the Edur had turned, had seen, and would not let go. Instead, he pulled, hard. Onrack stumbled back.
Knuckles pounded on the ground-the ape that Monok Ochem had become was, despite being gaunt with death, enormous. Patched grey and black skin, tufts of silver-tipped black hair on the broad shoulders and the nape of the neck, a sunken-eyed, withered face, jaws stretching wide to reveal canines-voicing a deep, grating roar.
Then Monok Ochem simply vanished. Swallowed by a surge of chaos.
Onrack stumbled over something, crashed down onto hard-packed ground, gravel skidding under him. Beside him, on his knees, was Trull Sengar.
The fall had broken their grip, and the Tiste Edur was staring down at his left hand-where only a thin, white scar remained.
A single sun blazed down on them, and Onrack knew they had returned to his native realm.
The T’lan Imass slowly climbed to his feet. ‘We must leave this place, Trull Sengar. My kin shall pursue. Perhaps only Monok Ochem remains, but he will not relent.’
Trull raised his head. ‘Remains? What do you mean? Where did the others go?’
Onrack looked down on the Tiste Edur. ‘The Liosan were too late to realize. The turning of Tella
‘Walked into? Why?’
Onrack managed a one-sided shrug. ‘They went, Trull Sengar, to kill the Liosan god.’
Little more than bones and scraps of armour, what had once been an army lay in the thick grey ash, encircling a steeply sloped pit of some kind. There was no way to tell whether the army had faced outward-defending some sort of subterranean entrance-or inward, seeking to prevent an escape.
Lostara Yil stood ankle-deep in the trail’s ashes. Watching Pearl walk gingerly among the bones, reaching down every now and then to drag some item free for a closer look. Her throat was raw, her hatred of the Imperial Warren deepening with every passing moment.
‘The scenery is unchanging,’ Pearl had noted, ‘yet never the same. I have walked this path before-this very path. There were no ruins, then. And no heap of bones or hole in the ground.’
And no winds to shift the ashes.
But bones and other larger objects had a way of rising to the surface, eventually. Or so it was true in the sands-why should ashes be any different? None the less, some of those ruins were massive. Vast expanses of flagstones, unstained, devoid even of dust. Tall, leaning towers-like the rotted stubs of fangs. A bridge spa
Slapping the dust from his gloved hands, Pearl strode up. ‘Curious indeed.’
Lostara coughed, hacked out grey sputum. ‘Just find us a gate and get us out of here,’ she rasped.
‘Ah, well, as to that, my dear, the gods are smiling down upon us. I have found a gate, and a lively one it is.’
She scowled at him, knowing he sought the inevitable question from her, but she was in no mood to ask it.
‘Alas, I know your thoughts,’ Pearl continued after a moment, with a quick wry grin. He pointed back towards the pit. ‘Down there… unfortunately. Thus, we are left with a dire choice. Continue on-and risk you spitting out your lungs-in search of a more easily approachable gate. Or take the plunge, as it were.’
‘You’re leaving the choice to me?’
‘Why not? Now, I’m waiting. Which shall it be?’
She drew the scarf over her mouth and nose once more, tightened the straps on her pack, then marched off… towards the pit.
Pearl fell in step. ‘Courage and foolishness, the distinction so often proves problematic-’
‘Except in hindsight.’ Lostara kicked herself free of a rib cage that had fouled her stride, then swore at the resultant clouds of ash and dust. ‘Who were these damned soldiers? Do you know?’