“Yes,” she smiled and moved to where the healer stood at the glade's
Kalam rubbed his bristly jaw, eyes following her. “Never seen Sorry smile before,” he said, as Paran arrived. “And that's a shame.”
They stood and watched as Mallet spoke quietly to the girl, then stepped forward and laid a hand on her forehead.
Paran cocked his head. “The storm's stopped,” he said “Yeah. Hope it means what we'd like it to mean.”
“Someone's stopped it. I share your hope, Corporal.” For the captain however, it was a small hope. Something was building. He sighed. “It's not even the twelfth bell yet. Hard to believe.”
“Long night ahead of us,” the assassin said, making it clear that he, too, found himself sorely lacking in optimism. He grunted. Mallet had voiced an amazed cry that reached them. The healer drew back his hand and waved at Paran and Kalam. “You go,” the assassin said.
The captain frowned at the black man, confused. Then he went over to where the healer and Sorry waited. The girl's eyes were closed, and she seemed in a trance.
Mallet was direct. “The possession's gone,” he said.
“Guessed as much,” Paran replied, eyeing the girl.
“There's more to it, though,” the healer continued. “She's got someone else inside her, sir.”
Paran's brows rose.
“Someone who was there all along. How it survived the Rope's presence is beyond me. And now I've got a choice.”
“Explain.”
Mallet crouched, found a twig and began to scratch aimless patterns in the dirt. “That someone's been protecting the girl's mind, acting like an alchemist's filter. In the last two years, Sorry's done things that would drive her insane if she'd remembered any of it. That presence is fighting those memories right now, but it needs help, because it isn't as strong as it once was. It's dying.”
Paran squatted beside the man. “You're thinking of offering that help, then?”
“Not sure. You see, sir, I don't know its plans. Don't know what it's up to, can't read the pattern it's trying to make. So let's say I help it, only what it wants is absolute control? Then the girl's possessed all over again."
“So you think the presence was protecting Sorry from the Rope, only so it could now jump in and take over?”
“Put it that way,” Mallet said, “and it doesn't make sense. What gets me, though, is why else would that presence commit itself so thoroughly? Its body, its flesh is gone. If it lets go of the girl it's got nowhere to go, sir. Now, maybe it's a loved one, a relative or something like that. A person who was willing to sacrifice herself absolutely. That's a possibility.”
“Herself? It's a woman?”
“It was. Damned if I know what it is now. All I get from it is sadness.”
The healer met Paran's eyes. “It's the saddest thing I've ever known, sir.”
Paran studied the man's face briefly, then he rose. “I'm not going to give you an order on what to do, Healer.”
“But?”
“But, for what it's worth, I say do it. Give it what it needs so it can do what it wants to do.”
Mallet puffed out his cheeks, then tossed down the twig and straightened. “My instinct, too, sir. Thanks.”
Kalam spoke loudly from the glade. “Far enough. Show yourselves.”
The two men spun around to see Kalam looking into the woods to their left. Paran grasped Mallet's arm and pulled him into the shadows.
The healer dragged Sorry with them.
Two figures entered the glade, a woman and a man.
Crokus snaked closer through the vines and mulch of the forest floor. For an off-limits garden, this was a busy tangle of wood. The voices he'd heard in his search for Apsalar now revealed themselves as two men and one silver-masked woman. All three were looking at an odd, blurry tree stump in the centre of the glade. Slowly Crokus let out a breath. One of the men was Rallick Nom.
“There is ill in this,” the woman said, stepping back. “A hunger.”
The large black-skinned man at her side grunted. “Wouldn't argue with you on that, Guild Master. Whatever it is, it ain't Malazan.”
The thief's eyes widened. Malazan spies? Guild Master? Vorcan!
Seemingly impervious to the strangeness around her, the woman now turned to Rallick. “How does it affect you, Rallick?”
“It doesn't,” he said.
“Approach it, then.”