Dust of Dreams (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #9) 61
The day had run away and then come back and it wasn’t nearly as cold as it’d been earlier. The ghost of Old Hunch Arbat had blown away like dust and was that fair? It wasn’t. So he was lost, looking for something but he’d forgotten what it was and he wanted to be home in Letheras, having fun with King Tehol and sexing with Shurq Elalle and breaking the arms of his fellow guards in the palace. Oh, where were all his friends?
His bleary, raw eyes settled on the battleaxe and he scowled. It wasn’t even pretty, was it. ‘Smash,’ he mumbled. ‘Crush. Its name is Rilk, but it never says anything. How’d it tell anybody its name? I’m alone. Everybody must be dead. Sorry, crow, you were last other thing left alive! In the whole world! And I killed you!’
‘Sorry I missed it,’ said a voice behind him.
Ublala Pung climbed to his feet and turned round. ‘Life!’
‘I share your exultation, friend.’
‘It’s all cold around you,’ Ublala said.
‘That will pass.’
‘Are you a god?’
‘More or less, Toblakai. Does that frighten you?’
Ublala Pung shook his head. ‘I’ve met gods before. They collect chickens.’
‘We possess mysterious ways indeed.’
‘I know.’ Ublala Pung fidgeted and then said, ‘I’m supposed to save the world.’
The stranger cocked his head. ‘And here I was contemplating killing it.’
‘Then I’d be all alone again!’ Ublala wailed, tears springing back to his puffy eyes.
‘Be at ease, Toblakai. You are reminding me that some things in this world remain worthwhile. If you would save the world, friend, that Draconean armour is fine preparation, as is that weapon at your feet-indeed, I believe I recognize both.’
‘I don’t know,’ Ublala said. ‘I don’t know where to go to save the world. I don’t know anything.’
‘Let us journey together, then.’
‘Gods make good friends,’ nodded Ublala Pung, pleased at this turn of events.
‘And spiteful enemies,’ the stranger said, ‘but we shall not be enemies, so that need not concern us. Wielder of Rilk, Wearer of Dra Alkeleint, what is your name?’
He swelled his chest. He liked being called Wielder and Wearer of things. ‘Ublala Pung. Who are you?’
The stranger smiled. ‘We will walk east, Ublala Pung. I am named Draconus.’
‘Oh, funny.’
‘What is?’
‘That’s the word Old Hunch Arbat’s ghost screamed, before the black wind tore him to pieces.’
‘You must tell me how you came to be here, Ublala Pung.’
‘I’m no good with questions like that, Draconus.’
The god sighed. ‘Then we have found something in common, friend. Now, collect up Rilk there and permit me to refasten your straps.’
‘Oh, thank you. I don’t like knots.’
‘No one does, I should think.’
‘But not as bad as chains, though.’
The strangers hands hesitated on the fittings, and then resumed. ‘True enough, friend.’
Ublala Pung wiped clean his face. He felt light on his feet and the sun was coming up and, he decided, he felt good again.
Everybody needs a friend.
Chapter Twenty
Let the sun warm the day.
If light holds all the colours
then see the union as pure
and free of compromise.
Walk the stone and burden of earth
with its manes like cats lying in wait
as the wind slips silken
and slides round the curl
of your sure vision.
Let the sun warm this day
armoured against all argument,
solid in sanctity to opinion.
The hue does not deceive
and the blur hides no thought
to partake of grey masses in the sky
lowering horizon’s rim
where each step is balanced
on the day’s birth.
Wake to the warmth of the sun.
It knew other loves past
and stole all the colours
from eternal promises.
The dust only flows to life
in the lost-treasure golds of light.
Hold to nothing new
for even the new is old
and burden-worn.
Let the sun bring forth the day.
You have walked this way before
amid hunters in the grasses
and wheeling lovers of death
crowning every sky.
The armies have pursued anon;
riders risen along the ridge.
Maids and courtiers abide