Used to be he thrived on such feelings. Proof that he was alive.

Yet… too many friends had fallen to the wayside on the journey. Far too many, and he was reluctant to let others take their places-not even this humble Tiste Edur with his too-full heart, his raw wound of grief; nor that damned T’lan Imass who now waded through a turgid sea of memories, as if seeking one-just one-that did not sob with futility. The wrong company indeed for Quick Ben-they were such open invitations to friendship. Not pity-which would have been easier. No, their damned nobility demolished that possibility.

And look where all his friends had gone. Whiskeyjack, Hedge, Trotts, Dujek Onearm, Kalam… well, wasn’t it always the way, that the pain of loss so easily overwhelmed the… the not-yetAost? And that sad list was only the most recent version. All since Pale. What of all the others, from long ago? Us damned survivors don’t have it easy. Not even close.

The thought made him sneer inside. What was this feeling sorry for himself? Pathetic indulgence and nothing else.

Skirting the edge of a submerged ravine, they sloshed through tepid, waist-deep water, their passage swirling up clouds of silts that had rested lightly on some unseen, interminably paved lake-bottom. Tracked now by-some kind of fish, their humped backs appearing every now and then to one side or the other, the dorsal fin ribbed, the bulge of water hinting at sizes a little too large for restful contemplation.

Least pleasant of all, Trull Sengar’s comment only moments past that these fish were probably the same kind that had once tried to eat him.

And Onrack the Broken had replied, ‘Yes, they are the same as the ones we fought on the floodwall, although of course they were then in their land-dwelling stage of life.’

‘So why are they here?’ Trull then asked.

‘Hungry,’ Onrack answered.

Enough, right then and there, to stir Quick Ben from his morose taciturnity. ‘Listen to you two! We’re about to be attacked by giant wizard-eating fish and you’re reminiscing! Look, are we in real danger or what?’

Onrack’s robust, prognathous face swung to regard him for a moment, then the T’lan Imass said, ‘We were assuming that you were warding us from them, Quick Ben.’

‘Me?’ He looked about, seeking any sign of dry land-but the milky water stretched on and on.

‘Is it time, then, to make use of your gate?’

Quick Ben licked his lips. ‘I think so. I mean, I’ve recovered from the last time, more or less. And I found somewhere to go. It’s just…’

Trull Sengar leaned on his spear. ‘You came out of that magical journey, Quick Ben, wearing the grin of the condemned. If indeed our destination is as fraught as it must be, I can understand your reluctance. Also, having observed you for some time now, it is clear to me that your battle against Icarium has weakened you at some fundamental level-perhaps you fear you will not be able to fashion a gate durable enough to permit the passage of all three of us? If so-’

‘Wait,’ the wizard interjected, silently cursing. ‘All right, I am a little… fragile. Ever since Icarium. You see far too much, Trull Sengar. But I can take us all through. That’s a promise. It’s just…’ He glanced over at Onrack. ‘Well, there may be some… unanticipated, uh, developments.’

Onrack spoke, ‘I am at risk?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe.’

‘This should not unduly affect your decision,’ the T’lan I mass replied. ‘I am expendable. These fish cannot eat me, after all.’

‘If we leave,’ Quick Ben said, ‘you will be trapped here for ever.’

‘No. I will abandon this form. I will join oblivion in these waters.’

‘Onrack-’ Trull began in clear alarm.

But Quick Ben cut in, ‘You’re coming with us, Onrack. I’m just saying there’s a little uncertainty with what will happen to you. I can’t explain more. It just relates to where we will find ourselves. To the aspect of that realm, I mean.’

Trull Sengar snorted. ‘Sometimes,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘you are truly hopeless, wizard. Best open the gate now, before we end up in the belly of a fish.’ He then pointed behind Quick Ben. ‘That one looks to be the biggest yet-see the others scatter-and it’s coming straight for us.’

Turning, the wizard’s eyes widened.

The waist-deep water did not even reach its eyes, and the monstrous fish was simply bulling its way through the shallows. A damned catfish of some sort, longer than a Napan galley-

Quick Ben raised his arms and shouted in a loud, oddly high-pitched voice: ‘It’s time to leave!’

Fragile. Oh yes, there is that. I poured too much through me trying to beat him back. There’s only so much mortal flesh and bone can take. The oldest rule of all, for Hood’s sake.

He forced open the gate, heard the explosive plunge of water into the realm beyond-the current wrapping round his legs-and he lunged forward, shouting, ‘Follow me!’

Once again, that nauseating, dreadful moment of suffocation, then he was staggering through a stream, water splashing out on all sides, rushing away-and cold wintry air closed in amidst clouds of vapour.

Trull Sengar stumbled past him, using the spear to right himself a moment before falling.

Gasping, Quick Ben turned.

And saw a figure emerge from the white mists.

Trull Sengar’s shout of surprise startled into the air birds from a nearby swath of knee-high trees, and as they raced skyward they spun in a half-circle over the head of Onrack the Broken. At their cries, at the swarm of tiny shadows darting around him, the warrior looked up, then halted.

Quick Ben saw Onrack’s chest swell with an indrawn breath that seemed without end.

The head then tilted down once more.

And the wizard stared into a face of smooth, wind-burnished skin. Eyes of green glittered beneath the heavy ridge of the brow. Twin streams of cold air then plumed down from Onrack’s broad, flattened, oft-broken nose.

From Trull Sengar, ‘Onrack? By the Sisters, Onrack!’

The small eyes, buried in epicanthic folds, shifted. A low, reverberating voice rumbled from the flesh and blood warrior. ‘Trull Sengar. Is this… is this mortality?’

The Tiste Edur drew a step closer. ‘You don’t remember? How it feels to be alive?’

‘I-I… yes.’ A sudden look of wonder in that heavy, broadly featured face. ‘Yes.’ Another deep breath, then a gust that was nearly savage in its exultation. The strange gaze fixed on Quick Ben once more. ‘Wizard, is this illusion? Dream? A journey of my spirit?’

‘I don’t think so. I mean, I think it’s real enough.’

‘Then… this realm. It is Tellann.’

‘Maybe. I’m not sure.’

Trull Sengar was suddenly on his knees, and Quick Ben saw tears streaming down the Tiste Edur’s lean, dusky face.

The burly, muscled warrior before them, still wearing the rotted remnants of fur, slowly looked round at the withered landscape of open tundra. ‘Tellann,’ he whispered. ‘Tellann.’

‘When the world was young,’ Redmask began, ‘these plains surrounding us were higher, closer to the sky. The earth was as a thin hide, covering thick flesh that was nothing but Irozen wood and leaves. The rotted corpse of ancient lorests. Beneath summer sun, unseen rivers flowed through that forest, between every twig, every crushed-down branch. And with each summer, the sun’s heat was greater, the season longer, and the rivers flowed, draining the vast buried forest. And so the plains descended, settled as the dried-out forest crumbled to dust, and with the rains more water would sink down, sweeping away that dust, southward, northward, eastward, westward, following valleys, rising to join streams. All directions, ever flowing away.’

Masarch sat silent with the other warriors-a score or more now, gathering to hear the ancient tale. None, however-Masarch included-had heard it told in quite this way, the words emerging from the red-scaled mask-from a warrior who rarely spoke yet who spoke now with ease, matching the cadence of elders with perfect precision.