Blood and Bone

by Ian C. Esslemont

  Murk peered around for Sour but couldn’t find the man anywhere. Finally he spotted him bent down all the way to his stomach studying a fat blossom growing out of a notch in the roots of one of the trees. To Murk, the sky-blue flower appeared almost obscene the way its swollen petals seemed to burst from the tree. He pulled his partner up by the collar of his rotting leather hauberk. ‘What in the name of D’rek are you doing? Let’s go.’

  ‘Ain’t never seen one like that afore,’ Sour explained as he dragged him along.

  ‘This ain’t no natural philosophy hike, Hood take you!’ Murk growled. ‘Stay focused.’

  They caught up with Yusen and Oroth-en, and the village elder led them on.

  Through the afternoon he began to see more and more signs of human occupation. The seemingly meandering way they walked met a narrow path and this in turn merged with a definite trail travelled enough to expose naked beaten dirt. As they went, Sour kept pointing out more and more of the fat, vaguely hand-shaped, dusty blue blossoms. Some clung to the trunks of trees or hung from branches overhead. He kept grinning and winking at Murk, as if he’d put them there himself.

  Murk just rolled his eyes. Fine, so they grow around here. Big deal.

  ‘Climbing Blue!’ Sour suddenly announced as he walked along, all hunched and side to side in his bow-legged gait.

  Murk scowled his annoyance. ‘What’re you going on about?’

  The mage waved a hand, flapping his tattered leather and mail gauntlet. ‘Them flowers. I’m gonna name them Climbing Blues.’

  ‘Climbing—’ Murk caught himself almost taking a swipe at his partner. ‘You can’t just up and name some plant! What makes you think you can do that?’

  ‘ ’Cause I discovered it. That’s why.’

  ‘Discovered it? You didn’t—’ The astounding claim stole Murk’s breath. ‘Idiots tripping over things is no way to hand out names. And anyway, what about these local folks? Don’t you think they know it? Or have a name for ’em?’

  Sour scrunched up his already wrinkled face, thinking. ‘Well … we don’t know any of that, do we?’

  ‘Oh, so because of your ignorance their hundreds of years old names for everything get tossed aside. Well, that’s just great.’

  ‘Well, maybe I’ll ask then!’

  ‘Well, fine! Go ahead.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘G’wan.’

  Sour opened his mouth but he and Murk noted Yusen glaring back at them and both hunched guiltily. They passed another of the blue flowers and Murk quelled an urge to kick the damned thing.

  Later Sour bumped him then flicked his eyes aside. Murk followed his gaze to catch a fleeting glimpse of one of the locals watching from the dense cover. After this he spotted a number of them. They carried bows and braces of javelins, or short spears, on their backs. Murk had yet to see any signs of metal on any of them – weapons or armour.

  Then, with startling suddenness, they emerged into a village. It was arranged in a great oval hacked out of the surrounding jungle. Its centre was an open clearing dotted by fire-pits. The circle of huts all faced the clearing. Most of the huts stood upon short poles and most were no more than walls woven through with branches of broad leaves. The roofs were thick layers of thatched grass.

  The villagers stilled, watching them, silent. Some tended low fires, or beat gathered branches. Some were sitting hunched over making implements, weaving plant fibre twine, or carving sticks – making arrows or darts, perhaps. Many lay in hammocks within the airy huts. An old woman pounded a mortar with a pestle, both made of wood. All wore little more than simple loincloths together with numerous ornaments, amulets or charms, tied to legs and arms. Bright stones glimmered from the ears and noses of some. Naked children watched from the open doorways of the huts. Some sort of welcoming committee waited in the clearing.

  Murk cocked an eye to his partner, who nodded, but then shut his eyes, his hands twitching at his sides, and abruptly fell to the ground. Murk froze, surprised, then rushed to help him up. The little man fought for a moment, flailing his arms. After this he calmed to peer about, surprised. Blood ran in a crimson torrent from his nose and he wiped it away with the back of his grimed gauntlet. ‘Gods! That ain’t never happened afore!’ he told Murk, stunned wonder in his voice.

  Yusen peered down at them, his gaze narrow with worry. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Sour straightened up. ‘Okay.’ He sent Murk a significant look, signed, ‘Her.’ ‘Was just surprised by somethin’, is all.’

  Murk said nothing, but he was quite alarmed. Her! So it must be true, this antipathy between Ardata and the Queen of Dreams. ‘Did you get it?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

  While Oroth-en watched, Sour straightened his torn hauberk. ‘Yeah. I got it … Barely.’

  ‘Okay then.’ Murk gestured, inviting Yusen to keep going. The captain flicked his gaze between the two mages then nodded his cooperation. He continued on.

  The warriors, both male and female, crowded round Oroth-en. None looked happy. One young fellow spoke, and thanks to Sour’s efforts Murk could now understand their language: ‘Why have you brought these Isturé demons?’ this one challenged. ‘They will murder us!’

  ‘I do not believe these are of the Isturé,’ Oroth-en answered, calmly enough.

  ‘They are like,’ another observed. ‘They carry iron.’

  ‘True. They are foreigners. Most foreigners carry such things. That is their way.’

  ‘If they are not of the Isturé, then we should kill them and take their iron,’ one of the female warriors declared.

  ‘Their numbers are too many,’ Oroth-en explained.

  ‘Numbers? How many are there?’ another demanded.

  ‘Many hands.’

  This quietened the warriors for a time. Then the female warrior who had spoken before, hefty and scarred, eyed Yusen and scowled bitterly. ‘I see. So … what are their demands?’

  Sour’s brows shot up and he looked to Murk, who raised his gaze to the open sky. Why does it always have to be me? He stepped forward, his hands open. ‘Do you understand me?’

  All gathered went quiet once more. Oroth-en turned to regard him, and even his gaze was now suspicious. ‘Why did you not reveal this before?’ he asked, quite coldly.

  ‘Because only now can I do so.’ He gestured to Sour. ‘My partner and I are what we call mages. You understand mages? Yes?’

  Oroth-en edged backwards, eyed him and Sour anew. ‘You are shaduwam?’

  Shaduwam? Ah – shaman. ‘Yes … of a kind. You have your own shaduwam, yes?’

  The warriors exchanged uneasy glances, but none said anything.

  So. Something here. Something they won’t reveal. Fine. None of my business. He addressed Oroth-en. ‘We are lost and hungry here in this jungle. We ask your aid. Aid in returning home. And food – whatever you can spare.’

  Oroth-en turned to his warriors. ‘You see? They come as guests asking our help. Are we so heartless as to turn them away?’

  The large female warrior scowled her displeasure. Her hair was a great mass of locks about her head and shoulders, and her cured leather shirt, her armour, strained to contain her chest. She planted the butt of her spear and tossed her heavy mane. ‘So might the snake beg entry to the hut.’

  ‘Then keep an eye upon them, Ursa.’

  ‘I shall!’ and she fixed her critical gaze on Murk.

  It seemed to him that Oroth-en hid a quirk of a smile as he half turned away. ‘Very good. Come, guests, sit and eat with us,’ and he gestured to the largest of the huts, the main house, perhaps.

  The meal was the oddest one Murk had ever had, or failed to have, as he actually ate almost none of it. They sat in a great circle on a raised floor of woven mats over slim wooden poles. He and Sour translated for Yusen, as Sour wasn’t about to attempt to raise his Warren again. Food was carried in and served round on broad leaves that went from hand to hand. One ate with the right hand and received the leaf with th
e left. Children tottered about in between, begging titbits from everyone, but only peering fascinated at the strangers.

  He wondered how to get any of this food to their companions now squatting in the jungle, waiting. From the lean figures of these natives he could guess that there was hardly enough to go round as it was. How could they possibly take on fifty additional mouths? They’d probably have to completely despoil the surrounding acres to manage it. And then there’d be nothing left.

  Yet he was reluctant even to name what came across his lap as ‘food’, let alone try it. Some leaves arrived heaped with what looked like inoffensive mashed plant matter, pulped roots perhaps, yet smelled vile, or crawled with ants. He thought the ants nothing more than an unavoidable nuisance until a leaf arrived with a great steaming heap of them cooked in some sort of a sticky sauce. Much worse was to come. Leaves covered in beetles and fat white grubs, still writhing, that the locals popped down like candies. Then more of the vegetable mush which they gathered up in their fingers like porridge. Murk didn’t know what was more disgusting: the idea of eating these dishes, or the sight of Sour eagerly sampling each and every one that came by.

  Eventually, he could stand it no longer and he sent a dark scowl of disgust Sour’s way. ‘Gods, man,’ he hissed, ‘do you really have to?’

  The skinny fellow cocked one walleye, half a black beetle pinched in his fingers, chewing. ‘Wha’?’

  He leaned closer, lowering his voice. ‘Eat, man. This … stuff.’

  Sour popped in the last of the huge beetle. ‘Stuff?’ he said around his mouthful. ‘It’s food. This is what they eat!’

  Murk flinched away, wincing his distaste. ‘Yeah … but how can you?’

  ‘Food’s food, friend.’ He tapped a dirty finger to his temple. ‘It’s all in the mind.’

  From where he sat down the circle Yusen raised a hand in the sign for manners, then turned to Oroth-en who sat next to him. ‘Thank you for the meal,’ he said, loudly. ‘It is greatly appreciated.’

  Oroth-en translated for everyone and they all smiled and nodded, then proceeded to push more of the heaped leaves on them. Sour sat up and spoke to Oroth-en: ‘May I go to thank those cooking?’

  The elder appeared quite bemused by the request but waved his agreement. ‘Of course.’

  Sour ambled off. Watching him go, Murk frowned his confusion. What in the name of all the gods is he doing?

  Movement on his other side distracted him and he turned. He almost jumped to see that now sitting next to him was the considerable bulk of the woman warrior, Ursa. Gone was the thick leather shirt, the skirting and the weapons. The woman now wore a simple cloth wrap tied at her immense breast. She glowered down at him.

  He decided that he ought to take Yusen’s warning to heart and so nodded a polite greeting. ‘Yes?’

  ‘You are not eating,’ she accused him.

  Smiling and giggling, women round him held out the leaves of insects and pulped plant matter.

  He struggled for a time, desperate to find a reason, only to finish, lamely, ‘I am not hungry.’

  ‘You will need your strength for the trial ahead, little man.’

  Murk felt his brows climb. ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘Why? Have you not guessed?’ The women nearby hid smiles behind their hands. He eyed them all. A terrifying possibility began to form in his mind.

  ‘You are the first foreigner sorcerer male I have met,’ the woman continued, undeterred. ‘I have heard all sorts of rumours about your kind. That your members are so tiny you can only bugger boys. That those sorcerers to the west have sworn off all mating whatsoever. And that the shaduwam to the south slice them off entirely!’ She made a cutting motion with her fingers across Murk’s lap. He flinched away, almost slapping his hands down to cover his crotch. The women, young and old, giggled anew.

  ‘So which is it?’ she demanded.

  ‘Which what?’

  ‘Which are you?’

  ‘Me?’ He peered round and caught Yusen’s amused gaze. He glared in response then turned to Ursa. ‘I’m quite healthy in that – area, thank you. No need to wonder.’

  She looked him up and down, as one might a horse at auction. ‘I will decide that, foreigner. Now, come with me.’

  ‘Come with … you?’

  She stood to peer down at him from over the wide shelf of her bosom. ‘Yes! Come. Let us see how much of a man you are.’

  Well – how could he let such a challenge go unanswered? He stood also, and bowed his farewell to Oroth-en who answered with a nod, the same small smile at his lips as had been there before. He’d known all evening. Next to the elder, Yusen used the marine sign-language to send: onward!

  Murk gave his own emphatic sign to the captain then followed the big woman out.

  Much later he was thoroughly exhausted, content and dreaming when the very floor of the hut seemed to rise up and throw him aside. He sat up, dazed, to see Ursa tying on her wrap.

  ‘I heard something,’ she whispered, snatching her spear. ‘Something I’ve never heard before.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Quiet,’ she hissed.

  Then he heard it, a bright sharp blare; and knew what it was. He fumbled for his linen trousers and stumbled down from the hut into the starlit central clearing. Here the villagers gathered, peering about, quite terrified. Hopping to slip on his boots, Murk found Yusen and Sour. ‘The rally horn!’ he called.

  Yusen nodded, grim. ‘They’re under attack.’

  Oroth-en came pushing his way through the clamouring crowd. ‘What is this noise?’ he demanded.

  ‘Our friends are being attacked.’

  ‘Attacked?’ the elder repeated, quite surprised.

  ‘Will you guide us back, please?’

  Oroth-en instantly set aside his confusion to nod his agreement. ‘Of course. Collect your weapons.’

  Yusen gave a quick bow of thanks. He turned to Sour and Murk. ‘Get your gear then return here.’ Both turned and ran. At the hut Murk found Ursa pulling on her thick leather skirting and shirt. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded as he sorted through their commingled gear, all tossed down together in the heat of their first round of lovemaking.

  ‘I am going.’

  Murk pulled on his laced shirt. ‘No, you’re not. Stay here. It’ll be dangerous.’

  ‘Dangerous?’ The woman let out a great braying laugh and slapped him on the shoulder so hard he almost fell over. ‘You have no idea how dangerous it is out there, foreigner.’ She hefted her spear. ‘Come!’ and she leaped from the hut.

  Oroth-en and a portion of the village’s warriors guided them through the woods. The moment Murk slipped under the surrounding jungle edge he entered a deep shadowed darkness. He gestured, summoning Meanas, and cast a Shadow-derived mage vision over Sour and Yusen, who signed back indicating that they had it. He then hurried to Oroth-en’s side.

  ‘As a mage, a shaduwam, I can help you see in the night—’ he began, but the elder waved the offer aside.

  ‘No need. We have no difficulty.’

  Indeed, now that Oroth-en said this, Murk realized that his warriors and scouts had all dodged ahead, slipping into the dark with ease. The fact of this now troubled him as he jogged along, struggling to keep up. Soon his breath came short – he was in poor shape after so many days of privation.

  Blasts of munitions now echoed from the jungle far ahead. The shockwaves raised howls, cries and shrieks of protest from the many night-creatures. Swarms of bats churned overhead, disturbed from the highest reaches of the canopy. Damn. Gettin’ serious. Who’s attacking? Another village?

  Ursa emerged from the brush to come to his side. ‘What is this new noise like thunder, lover?’ she demanded.

  ‘Munitions – ah, powerful blasts, like magery.’ She grunted her half-understanding. ‘Watch out—’ but she was gone again, dodging into the thick fronds of the undergrowth.

  Gods damn them! No one’s listening!

  It began to rain. The advance w
as a nightmare of flashing bodies dodging between trees, slapping branches and dripping leaves. He turned his ankle on a fallen log and limped along as best he could. All around him the locals sent up war whoops and yipping challenges to the night. They clashed the hafts of their spears against the shells and lattices of sticks they wore woven over leather as armour.

  Why are they making so damned much noise? Then it came to him – putting up a scare. They were hoping drive off the attackers. He lent his own voice to the shouts.

  Far too long later, long after the distant clash and eruptions of munitions had died away, Murk emerged into the meadow and stepped on to the torn mud of the aftermath of battle. Members of the company knelt with those fallen, wrapping wounds or comforting ones too far gone. He sought out Burastan. He found her with Yusen, her face slashed and the cloth and armour of her arm ragged and torn as if some sort of animal had been raging at it.

  ‘Who was it?’ he demanded, barging into their conversation.

  ‘Creatures,’ she answered, exhausted. ‘Half-human, half-monster.’

  ‘D’ivers? Soletaken?’

  Her answer was an unknowing, utterly spent shrug.

  Nearby, Oroth-en listened to reports from his scouts who slipped into the clearing, whispered to him, then sped off once more. His warriors helped guard the clearing’s perimeter.

  ‘You have a count?’ Yusen asked Burastan.

  She nodded, wiped a bloodied sleeve across her face. ‘Some fifteen seriously wounded. Eight dead.’

  Murk peered about for Sour and spotted him already tending to a wounded trooper. Good. The man wasn’t much of a bonesetter, but he was the best they had – gods help them. Strangely, two of the locals were kneeling there helping with the binding and treatment and they appeared to be debating techniques with him.

  He then began hunting through the tall grass for the litter and its perilous burden. The troopers had obviously hidden it away, but the power of the object glowed like a dazzling ember in his mage-vision, guiding him. He found Dee and Ostler standing guard.

  He asked Dee: ‘Did it … do … anything?’

  The big swordsman eyed him as if he were an idiot. ‘Whaddya mean?’