‘Icarium pursues the question,’ the Trell said, squinting down at the cracked, worn pavestones. The lantern’s oil was getting low, deepening the chamber’s gloom. ‘I admit I have been wondering if the High Priest is intending to force Apsalar into a role she seems made for . ..’

‘A role? Like what?’

‘Sha’ik’s prophecy speaks of a rebirth .. .’

The sapper paled, then vehemently shook his head. ‘No. She wouldn’t do it. This land’s not hers, the goddess of the Whirlwind means nothing to her. Pust can try and force it all he wants, the lass will turn her back – mark my words.’ Suddenly restless, Fiddler stood up and began pacing. His foot-falls whispered with faint echoes in the chamber. ‘If Sha’ik’s dead, she’s dead. Hood take any obscure prophecies! The Apocalypse will fizzle out, the Whirlwind sink back into the ground to sleep another thousand years or however long it is until the next Year of Dryjhna comes around ...’

‘Yet Pust seems to place much significance on this uprising,’ Mappo said. ‘It’s far from over – or so he seems to believe.’

‘How many gods and Ascendants are playing in this game, Trell?’ Fiddler paused, eyeing the ancient warrior. ‘Does she physically resemble Sha’ik?’

Mappo shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘I saw the Whirlwind Seer but once, and that at a distance. Light-skinned for a Seven Cities native. Dark eyes, not especially tall or imposing. It’s said the power is – was – within her eyes. Dark and cruel.’ He shrugged a second time. ‘Older than Apsalar. Perhaps twice her years. Same black hair, though. Details are irrelevant in matters of faith and attendant prophecies, Fiddler. Perhaps only the role need be reborn.’

‘The lass ain’t interested in vengeance against the Malazan Empire,’ the sapper growled, resuming his pacing.

‘And what of the shadowy god who once possessed her?’

‘Gone,’ he snapped. ‘Nothing but memories and blissfully few of those.’

‘Yet daily she discovers more. True?’

Fiddler said nothing. If Crokus had been present, the walls would have been resounding with his anger – the lad had a fierce temper when it came to Apsalar. Crokus was young, not by nature cruel, but the sapper felt certain that the lad would kill Iskaral Pust without hesitation at the mere possibility of the High Priest seeking to use Apsalar. And trying to kill Pust would probably prove suicidal. Bearding a priest in his den was never a wise move.

The lass was finding her memories, it was true. And they weren’t shocking her as much as Fiddler would have expected – or hoped. Another disturbing sign. Although he told Mappo that Apsalar would refuse such a role, the sapper had to admit – to himself at least – that he couldn’t be so certain.