Memories of Ice

Killing.



'Yes. Killing.'



I cannot return to my human form. I cannot find it within myself.



'It has been too long, Treach.'



Now, I die.



'Yes. I have no skills in healing.'



Within his mind, he smiled. No, only killing.



'Only killing.'



Then an end to my suffering, please.



'That is the man speaking. The beast would never ask such a thing. Where is your defiance, Treach? Where is your cunning?'



Do you mock me?



'No. I am here. As are you. Tell me, who then is this other presence?'



Other?



'Who has unchained your memories, Treach? Who has returned you to yourself? For centuries you were a beast, with a beast's mind. Once that place is reached, there is no return. Yet. '



Yet I am here.



'When your life fades from this world, Treach, I suspect you will find yourself, not before Hood's gates, but. elsewhere. I can offer nothing of certainty. But I have sensed the stirrings. An Elder God is active once again, perhaps the most ancient one of all. Subtle moves are being made. Select mortals have been chosen, and are being shaped. Why? What does this Elder God seek? I know not, but I believe it is in answer to a grave — and vast — threat. I believe the game that has begun will take a long time in its playing out.'



A new war?



'Are you not the Tiger of Summer? A war in which, this Elder God has judged, you will be needed.'



Wry amusement flooded Treach's mind. I have never been needed, Imass.



'Changes have come. Upon us all, it seems.'



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?'