Memories of Ice

Ah, then we shall meet again? I would wish it. I would see you, once more, as the midnight panther.

She laughed, low in her throat. 'And so the beast awakens. Farewell, Treach.'

She had, in that last moment, seen what he only now felt. Darkness closed around him, narrowed his world. Vision … from two eyes… to one.

One. Looking across a stretch of grasses as night fell, watching the massive Soletaken tiger pause warily above the dead bull ranag upon which it had been feeding. Seeing the twin flares of its cold, challenging glare. All … so long ago, now.

Then nothing.

A gloved hand slapped him hard. Groggily, Toc the Younger pried open his lone eye, found himself staring up at Senu's painted mask.

'Uh…'

'An odd time to fall asleep,' the Seguleh said tonelessly, then straightened and moved away.

The air was sweet with the smell of roasting meat. Groaning, Toc rolled over, then slowly sat up. Echoes rolled through him, ineffable sadness, half-formed regrets, and the long exhalation of a final breath. Gods, no more visions. Please. He struggled to clear his head, looked around. Tool and Baaljagg had not moved from their stance of before: both staring northward, motionless and — Toc eventually realized — taut with tension. And he thought he knew why.

'She's not far off,' he said. 'Coming fast.' With the night, flowing as the sun flees. Deadly majesty; ancient, so very ancient, eyes.

Tool turned. 'What have you seen, Aral Fayle? To where did you journey?'

The Malazan clambered weakly upright. 'Beru fend, I'm hungry. Hungry enough to eat that antelope raw.' He paused, drew a deep breath. 'What have I seen? I was witness, T'lan Imass, to the death of Treach. Trake, as he's known round here, the Tiger of Summer. Where? North of here. Not far. And no, I don't know why.'

Tool was silent for a moment, then he simply nodded and said, 'Chen're oral lich'fayle. The Menhir, heart of memory.' He swung round again as Baaljagg rose suddenly, hackles rising.

The panther that Toc knew was coming finally appeared, more than twice a man's height in length, eyes almost level with Toc's own, her sleek fur blue-black and shimmering. A scent of spice swept forward like an exhaled breath, and the creature began sembling, the shift an uncertain blurring, a folding in of darkness itself. Then a small woman stood before them, her eyes on Tool. 'Hello, brother.'

The T'lan Imass slowly nodded. 'Sister.'

'You've not aged well,' she noted, lithely stepping forward.

Baaljagg backed away.

'You have.'

Her smile transformed bold features into a thing of beauty. 'Generous of you, Onos. You have a mortal ay for a companion, I see.'

'As mortal as you, Kilava Onass.'

'Indeed? Predictably shy of my kind, of course. None the less, an admirable beast.' She held out a hand.

Baaljagg edged closer.

'Imass,' she murmured. 'Yes, but flesh and blood. Like you. Do you remember, now?'

The huge wolf ducked her head and padded up to Kilava, leaned a shoulder against that of the woman, who pressed her face into the animal's mane, drew deep the scent, then sighed. 'This is an unexpected gift,' she whispered.

'More than that,' Toc the Younger said.

He twisted inside as she looked up at him to reveal the raw sensuality in her eyes, a thing so clearly natural that he knew in an instant that he was no more the focus of it than anyone else upon whom she turned her gaze. The Imass as they once were, before the Ritual. As they would have remained, if, like her, they had refused its power. A moment later, those eyes narrowed.

Toc nodded.

'I saw you,' she said, 'looking out from Treach's eyes-'

'Both eyes?'

She smiled. 'No. Only one — the one you no longer have, mortal. I would know what the Elder God has planned … for us.'

He shook his head. 'I don't know. I can't recall ever meeting him, alas. Not even a whisper in my ear.'

'Brother Onos, who is this mortal?'

'I have named him Aral Fayle, sister.'

'And you have given him weapons of stone.'

'I have. Unintended.'

'By you, perhaps …'

'I serve no god,' Tool growled.

Her eyes flashed. 'And I do? These steps are not our own, Onos! Who would dare manipulate us? An Imass Bonecaster and the First Sword of the T'lan Imass — prodded this way and that. He risks our wrath-'

'Enough,' Tool sighed. 'You and I are not of a kind, sister. We have never walked in step. I travel to the Second Gathering.'

Her sneer was decidedly unpleasant. 'Think you I did not hear the summons?'

'Made by whom? Do you know, Kilava?'

'No, nor do I care. I shall not attend.'

Tool cocked his head. 'Then why are you here?'

'That is my business.'