‘Yes. He does,’ the Enchantress answered, her voice low, as if she were thinking of other things.
Ina slid her gaze aside to her mistress. It occurred to her that while Mael might have empathy for people, her mistress, the Queen of Dreams, had plans.
The next day the seas quietened and on the southern horizon a dark line of land appeared. It resolved into a swampy shore of mangroves standing on their tangled nests of roots. Ina could see no way past to the firm land beyond. Yet the bow of the vessel continued onward. It sliced the calm turquoise waters of the shallows, heading straight for the dense line of trees. She found herself bracing for an impact, one leg sliding back behind her, turning sideways to the direction of movement.
At the last moment the Enchantress raised an arm and edged it across her front as if brushing something away. The mass of mangrove trees ahead flinched, branches creaking and snapping, as something unseen edged them aside. The waters clouded with great clots of reddish silts that churned with the torn roots. It was as if the entire stretch of coast bled. The long thin vessel slid into the cut like a dagger entering the flesh of the land.
They continued onward for a good league until the bow struck firm soil, grating and groaning. Ina was thrown forward, hopping to keep her footing. The bow rose a few feet then stopped, settling slightly. The noise of grating broken branches scratching the sides of the ship abated and for a moment silence bloomed. Then the surrounding jungle asserted itself and a loud susurrance of insects set up a droning hum. Monkeys hooted and called from distant treetops. Birds shocked her with piercing whistles.
The Enchantress brushed her hands together. ‘There. That wasn’t so bad.’
Ina inclined her masked head in agreement.
‘Let us go.’ Her mistress started down the sloped decking towards the vessel’s edge.
‘A moment,’ Ina called, and she went to collect a shoulder bag of gear and skins of water that she’d scavenged from the cabin. ‘I will go first.’
The Enchantress shrugged. ‘If you must.’
Ina let the bag fall to the sands then jumped down. She reached up for her mistress. ‘You will have to let yourself down.’
Awkwardly, the Enchantress let her legs dangle over the side. She then slid – in a very unbecoming manner – to fall into Ina’s arms. The Seguleh grunted at the load, but managed to remain standing. Why is it the world’s most potent sorceress should be such a solid washerwoman? she wondered to herself.
The Queen of Dreams set off through the dense woods. ‘This way.’
Ina scrambled after, stepping over roots and low tangles of vines. Branches snagged at her leather hauberk and scratched her scalp. So impenetrable was the press of trees and brush that even the immense hulk of the abandoned ship disappeared from view almost immediately. She wondered how many years it would last, resting there. If it was half as ensorcelled as she suspected then quite some time. She imagined explorers or adventurers crossing this desolate shore some time in the future and coming across its overgrown hull stranded so far inland. What a puzzle it would pose for them.
Then it came to her, and the realization rooted her to the spot. A mysterious destination. An uninhabited jungle shore. A region the very god of the seas considered perilous.
Jacuruku. They had arrived.
It seemed they had just left behind yet another legend for fabled Jacuruku.
That thought put her in mind of that other most famous mythic thread of this land: the legendary city of Jakal Viharn. Even in the streets of Cant such stories were told. Stories of a lost city. Of riches, magic, and the perilous Queen of all Witches who inhabited it. One with the power, so the stories went, to grant any wish to whoever should succeed in reaching her there in the heart of the enchanted jungle … Her thoughts tumbled to a halt as it came to her: By the lost First! Could this be my mistress’s intent?
She rushed closer to the Enchantress’s side, moved out of the way a thick hanging liana strung with clinging pink and white blossoms. ‘Mistress,’ she began, haltingly, ‘it is not my place, but I must ask …’
The Enchantress halted, one thick brow cocked. ‘Yes?’
Ina shivered beneath that arched look. ‘I have heard stories of this Ardata …’
Both dark brows rose. ‘Ah. The stories. Of course.’
Ina gave a quick bow. ‘Yes. That all who reach her die. That her blessing is a curse. That she is a witch—’
‘I have been damned as a witch,’ her mistress calmly observed.
Ina bowed to one knee, stricken. ‘Please do not be angered. It is your safety that concerns me. I must know. Do you intend to confront this demon goddess?’
The Enchantress tilted her head in a thoughtful expression. ‘Confront …’ she murmured. ‘Such a harsh word. Perhaps,’ she added, gesturing to the jungle, ‘we had better turn our concerns to closer threats.’
Ina spun, sword hissing free of its wooden sheath. Shapes moved through the thick brush all about them. She bowed her head to her mistress. ‘I am a fool!’
The Enchantress pushed back her wet tangled hair. ‘Later.’
Ina snapped a curt nod then stood, sword out. The lumbering heavy figures surrounded them. They pushed their way awkwardly through the undergrowth with slow cumbersome steps. As they came nearer she could see them more clearly and an atavistic loathing clamped itself at her throat. Naked they were, shambling forward on thick trunk-like legs – but there any direct resemblance to human stock ceased. The flesh of their stomachs and chests rippled like pale corrugated armour. Their arms were short yet powerful, ending in massive claws. Their heads were reptilian travesties, all jutting bent teeth, slit eyes and plated skin.
Yet she faced them relaxed and confident. None displayed any weapon other than their own teeth and claws. She would cut them to pieces. Her mistress’s hand, however, rested upon her shoulder.
‘Wait,’ the Enchantress murmured, then, louder, ‘What do you wish?’
The closest tilted its thick head, as if puzzled. It blinked slowly and coughed. ‘We thought … we sensed our Queen. But you are not she.’
Ina dared a quick glance to her mistress. The Enchantress was shaking her head. A small amused smile played about her mouth. ‘No,’ she answered. ‘I am not.’
‘And yet …’ the creature continued in a growl, ‘there is much of her in you.’
The Enchantress’s eyes narrowed, no longer amused. ‘Well. You see that I am not. You may go.’
The beast-men – Ina thought them perhaps Soletaken – grumbled and chuffed among themselves. Their leader pulled back its lips to bare its blunt yellowed teeth even further, perhaps displaying disgust or anger. ‘We do not answer to you. Why are you here? What is it you wish?’
‘I am come to see your mistress,’ the Enchantress announced readily enough. She added, ‘So do not interfere.’
The creature thumped a clawed hand to its chest. ‘We decide who sees the goddess. We are her guardians.’
The beasts all coughed and roared at this pronouncement, sending up a great cacophony of noise that impacted Ina’s chest. She eased into a ready stance once again, both hands on her longsword.
‘Tell me,’ the Enchantress began, her voice thoughtful, ‘should your mistress choose to walk through the jungle here, would you bar her way? Because if you wouldn’t,’ and her voice hardened, ‘then you mustn’t bar mine.’
The creature’s dark eyes widened and it ducked its head as if chastened. It waved a trunk-thick arm to its fellows. Awkwardly, stiffly, all the surrounding beast-men fell to one knee and bowed to the Enchantress.
Quite calmly, the Queen of Dreams gestured Ina onward. As they passed the group’s leader, it growled, its head lowered, ‘So very much alike …’
Ina shot a glance to the Enchantress who continued walking as if nothing had been said. She led the way into the denser brush and Ina had to dodge ahead, sword still ready, brushing aside branches and fronds. She turned the flat of the blade to do so, as it would be an
insult to the years put into its cutting edge to use it on mere plants. Not long into the trek she found that she could contain her curiosity no longer. The creature’s suggestions of likenesses kept going round and round her mind. Among Ardata’s titles was Queen of Witches, and it came to her now that the Enchantress was also known as the Queen of Dreams. These beasts referred to Ardata as their ‘goddess’ – as the Enchantress was also regarded by her worshippers. They even seemed to think of her as their mistress – just as she so regarded the Enchantress.
As the canopy thickened and layered, the undergrowth thinned, starved of light. Ina fell back to the Enchantress’s side. ‘Mistress,’ she began tentatively. ‘Those creatures … they are Soletaken?’
The Queen of Dreams walked with her hands clasped at her back. She peered about at the jungle as if interested in every plant and tree. Her skirts hung mud-spattered, torn already. Her hair, drying without any attention from her, was an unkempt matted mess. Ina restrained herself from suggesting that the Enchantress ought to attend to it. Perhaps later, when they stopped for the night, she could simply offer her her comb. At her question the Enchantress had raised her brows, ‘Hmm? These inhabitants of Himatan?’
‘Yes. They are shapechangers?’
‘Shapechangers,’ her mistress repeated thoughtfully. ‘No. They are as you saw them. They do not change their shape. Few things are capable of changing shape – unless they be of the Eleint. Their blood partakes of chaos, you know.’ Ina did not know that. However, she remained silent as her goal was to get her mistress talking. After saying nothing for a time the Enchantress continued, ‘Once – long ago – there lived a species, a kind, who could change shape from beast to human. Or perhaps they occupied a place between. It was natural to them. This was not magic as you would understand it.’ Ina did not understand magic at all, but she maintained her silence. ‘This ability bred true with them. Over thousands of years they spread, parted into clans and tribes. Some lost the ability through interbreeding with other stock – or at least it became very diminished. Others held true to it. And so, over the centuries, that base stock gave rise to many differing forms and kinds of populations – even some indistinguishable from you.’
‘I believe I see,’ Ina said at last, genuinely grateful for the lesson. Any knowledge offered from a source such as the Queen of Dreams should be honoured.
‘Here in Himatan,’ the Enchantress continued, musing, ‘they have lived undisturbed for a very long time. They have obviously penetrated into differing areas of it. Humankind walk these paths very lightly, Ina. You do not rule here … unlike almost everywhere else.’
Ina said nothing but she was rather intrigued by that almost – she’d thought otherwise. ‘So they are a race, then. Yet they are not of the four founding races.’
The Queen of Dreams gave a very unqueen-like braying laugh. ‘The four founding races is a self-justifying myth. Just like all of your origin myths.’
Ina noted the your and merely nodded her masked head. Now for the real thrust, she decided. ‘And the likeness they spoke of? The similarities between you and … Ardata?’
The Enchantress’s gaze shifted to rest upon her while they walked. The Seguleh Jistarii, taught since infancy to search for the subtlest of hints in any opponent’s eyes, found it impossible to hold the woman’s gaze. They did not look like any other’s eyes. They seemed to lead on to an infinity of depth; she feared she would lose herself within them and never recover.
‘Well,’ the Enchantress said after a time. ‘As to that. The explanation is simple. You could say that she and I are sisters.’
Ina was struck immobile. It was as if she’d forgotten her legs. The Enchantress continued on apparently unconcerned by what she had just divulged. Sisters! By the First! She and this Queen of Monsters?
And so what did that make her? Another sort of monster?
Ina examined her thoughts. She was not a worshipper. To her the woman was powerful, yes, and thus indistinguishable from the multitude of gods and goddesses and other powerful spirits and phantoms that crowded the world. That was how it had always been. There were cults in the world that put their number in the countless millions. And as such, then, did that not make the woman’s position almost pedestrian? Why should she be surprised? There are gods and goddesses everywhere. One cannot turn over a rock without finding one. She’d heard stories that here in Himatan was preserved the ancient manner of seeing the world; that every tree, every stream and stone possessed a spirit.
And some are far more powerful than others. Like beads on a necklace they form a continuum of existence. A continuum that serves to connect the human with the infinite. That is comforting. Finding a place in an incomprehensible universe is a comforting thing.
Some distance off the Enchantress stopped and turned. ‘You are coming?’ she called.
Ina blinked, rousing herself, and ducked her head in apology. ‘Yes, Mistress.’
* * *
‘And so begins the great assault upon the water barrier thrown up against the Army of Righteous Chastisement’s … ah, righteous … advance,’ Principal Scribe Thorn pronounced, scratching at a parchment sheet on a wooden backing held in his off hand.
Beneath his parasol, one arm upraised holding the Rod of Execution, Master Golan forced a steadying breath through his gritted teeth. ‘Not quite yet,’ he murmured testily. He lowered the arm and officers shouted orders and the first of the troops marched down to the waters to ford out to the awaiting rafts. ‘Now it begins.’
Principal Scribe Thorn raised his gaze from the parchment to blink myopically at the river. ‘Ah … I see.’ He returned to scratching at the parchment.
‘Second in Command!’ Golan called out. Down below the short earthen cliff that Golan held, overseeing the assault, Second in Command Waris turned from the circle of officers and messengers gathered on the mud shore to bow. ‘Remember,’ Golan reminded the man, ‘they mustn’t drink the water. Water is quite unhealthy.’
Waris bowed his head in acknowledgement and returned to his staff.
What will it take to tear a word from that man? Golan wondered.
‘Commander Golan assures everyone that water is very unhealthy,’ Thorn murmured while writing, his black tongue protruding.
Unlike this one. ‘Perhaps the opposite shore would provide a better vantage,’ Golan suggested to Thorn.
Without raising his head the scribe read aloud, scribbling, ‘The illustrious commander Master Golan offers to lead the assault.’
Golan discovered his jaws clenched tight once more. ‘I believe the shovels require re-counting,’ he grated.
The Principal Scribe murmured as he wrote: ‘No detail is too small to escape Master Golan’s eagle eye.’
Golan let hiss another long steadying breath. Is this the revenge of these outland gods? Below, new figures emerged from the thick jungle verge to come walking down to the shore just below him: the damned Isturé commander and his pet mages. Golan motioned to the river where the first of the rafts was about to set out, guided on their way across the wide muddy course by ropes dragged and secured, at great loss of life, across the river. ‘The advance begins,’ he announced, then damned himself as he suspected that sounded far too smug.
The Isturé commander wore his tall full helm. He crossed his arms, the sun glinting from the enamelled black scales of his long coat of armour. ‘Indeed. Impressive.’
It was hard to tell since the man’s face was obscured, but Golan wondered if he detected mockery from this fellow as well. Was he to be surrounded by detractors? He tucked the Rod of Execution into the sash of his robes, tilted the parasol at a more rakish angle. Yet perhaps not. Perhaps he was merely feeling a touch … sensitive … and under assault, given the rather, well, troubled character of the campaign’s performance to date.
It will unfortunately be held as a personal reflection, after all.
Therefore, it was all the more vital that this operation unfold without hindrance. Yes, quite vital
. He watched the soldiers steadying the broad lead raft as they clambered on. A number of the troops took hold of the fixed rope and heaved, pulling hand over hand, drawing the raft along and across the river. They also carried a second length of rope – what remaining stout cords could be found that had yet to succumb to the damp and rot. This would be used to establish a second ferry crossing slightly further downstream. With both operating continuously, Golan calculated they would complete the exercise in two days.
As the morning waned the sun hove directly overhead. It glared down with a punishing heat. The immediately surrounding forest tracts now fell uncharacteristically silent. The army’s presence had already naturally quietened the birds and wildlife. Golan wondered if it was the heat of noon that drove all the animals to ground.
Both rafts were now steadily crossing and recrossing the wide ochre-brown rippling flow of the river. Now the possibility of a counter-attack came to haunt Golan. A sufficient portion of the force would be stranded on the opposite side to make it strategically worthwhile. He called down to his second in command: ‘Send the Isturé across.’
His second turned to the Isturé commander still standing where he had planted himself. Like a statue, Golan thought. Very like a yakshaka. Waris bowed and gestured, inviting the man down to the line of troops awaiting their turn. The Isturé commander, Skinner, raised his helmed head – still wearing the helm in this heat! – to Golan, who also extended an inviting arm towards the river.
The foreigner said nothing – perhaps aping Golan’s impressively taciturn second. He merely flicked a gauntleted hand to the jungle’s edge and from the line of nodding broad leaves and brush emerged the full force of his command: some forty of the Disavowed.
They marched down to the shore; an impressive force. All far better armed and armoured than the Thaumaturg regulars, who wore leather hauberks and skirtings and carried spears and wide-bladed iron shortswords at their sides. They commandeered one of the rafts, filling it entire, then pulled their way across.
Blood and Bone Page 49