Blood and Bone

by Ian C. Esslemont

  Hanu squeezed her shoulder and gestured that they should move. She shook her head. There was no point now. What could she possibly do against the entire Circle of Masters?

  Hanu unceremoniously picked her up and marched off to the side, tracing the outer wall.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I do not know. We’re not alone out here. For some time it’s been bothering me. Perhaps we’re being followed.’

  She covered her face to fight back tears. ‘Well – it’s all over anyway.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Hanu … You don’t understand …’

  ‘I know you shouldn’t give up before the battle is joined.’

  ‘It’s not that simple!’

  He was jogging now, hunched, leaping tall snaking roots and fallen rotting tree trunks. They rounded the corner of the overgrown walls to find an exact replica of the side they’d quit. The structure, it appeared, was completely symmetrical in all directions. He set off again at a run. Saeng braced herself with an arm at his armoured neck.

  They came to another gate, this one facing north. From the untrammelled ground it appeared that no one had come this way for a very long time. Hanu set her down. ‘I know we should at least reconnoitre,’ he sent, then he motioned for her to follow him at a distance, and edged forward towards the gate.

  The interior was a series of narrow courts separated by walls and gates. Covered walks lined the walls. Carvings depicted a series of battles against inhuman forces, giants and half-humans such as those she’d met populating the jungle today. Saeng was reminded of the ancient legends of the God-King as a great conqueror who subdued the entire continent. It occurred to her that what she was looking at here was a record of human ascension. Perhaps they revered him because he had won them their lands.

  Yet the earthworks, the mounds, all were so incredibly ancient. Did it all go back that far? The thought of such an immense gulf of time made her dizzy. Perhaps, she considered, people had been here already – just a different tribe or offshoot of humanity. Forebears painted as monsters in retrospect.

  They were nearing something. She could feel it pressing against her like a driving wind coming out of a place where no wind should come. Her flesh prickled with the power being summoned, leashed and contained. All to compel a god.

  Hanu returned and gestured her forward. She ran a hand along the damp chill stone inner wall of an arch as she went. Grit from the old stones came away against her palm. Crumbling away even as I touch it.

  He motioned to one side along another covered walkway. They were near the centre structure, a tall narrow stupa-like tower, but Hanu was pointing down here. She edged around to see that the wall of the inner temple possessed a narrow gap, an opening leading down.

  ‘What do you think?’

  She nodded. Yes, down. It felt right. Hanu went first and she hurried after. The stairway was so slim her shoulders brushed either wall, and the stone steps were so steep she had to take them one at a time. Below ground level the stones lining the way changed to a darker native rock and each block was much larger. These were also set exquisitely, without a hair’s gap between.

  An older construction – one pre-dating the temple above. Of course! A sacred site retains its power. Newer faiths or creeds merely build atop the ruined old, each appropriating the older authority and presence. That thought gave her an idea, and suddenly all did not appear as hopeless as before.

  As they descended, a flickering light grew ahead. Not daylight, which was fading behind them, but an argent and white surging that Saeng recognized as raw puissance. They emerged into a wide chamber built entirely of the cyclopean basaltic blocks. At its centre was a raised dais, or altar, carved from the same dark stone. Set within the stone lay a multi-rayed sun symbol that glowed as if formed of gold itself. It probably represented the immense league-spanning earthworks surrounding this structure, that perhaps even extended all the way across the continent. The Locus. The focal point of immense energies tapping the entire land.

  Sizzling and crackling on the dais stood a pillar of that enormous might, drawn like an inverted waterfall up to the ceiling and through a tiny aperture, presumably to the chamber above where the Thaumaturgs, having summoned it, now strove to manipulate and control it.

  Saeng stared, awestruck, her gaze shielded against the glare. How could anyone hope to contain such astounding power? No wonder they seemed unaware of her presence – they were quite preoccupied, enmeshed in a fight for their lives. She knew that even to approach such a cascade would blast her to ashes instantly; and the Circle above fought now to actually direct it.

  She lowered her gaze to the dais. This was the key. It had originally been an altar sanctified to Light – the worship of the Sun and the Sky. The cult of which others had recognized her as High Priestess. She knew then what she had to do.

  She merely had to claim it.

  She turned to Hanu. The truth must have been in her eyes for he glanced from her to the dais. He waved a negative. ‘No! There must be another way. I will try to break it …’

  ‘This is how it must be,’ she sent to him.

  ‘No! There must—’ He broke off, spinning to the entrance.

  Saeng turned and had a shocked single glimpse of a ragged figure, a ghost from the awful days just past: Myint herself, pale and haggard, her armour torn, her hair a gnarled mat. Insane glee blazed in her eyes as she launched herself from the steps of the entrance, her spear levelled at Hanu.

  The keen weapon struck home. And with Myint’s entire weight falling behind the thrust the blade penetrated to emerge glistening with blood from Hanu’s back. He toppled to his side.

  More figures followed. In scuttled Thet-mun, hunched, emaciated, dirt-smeared, his eyes huge as he stared about, terrified. And last came the one she somehow knew would be leading them still: Kenjak Ashevajak, the so-called Bandit Lord. He’d had most of the swagger kicked out of him, but he still carried a smirk that he now bestowed on her.

  She ignored them all to run to Hanu’s side. She brushed her hands over him; she had no idea where to start, what to do. Blood ran from his wound and the sight horrified her.

  ‘Run,’ he sent to her.

  Hands yanked her upright and spun her about to face Kenjak. He stepped up so close she could smell his stale sweat, see the dirt and grime blackening his pores. He stared at her as if he too could not believe that they had at last met again.

  The smirk grew into a secretive smile and his gaze became almost tender. ‘I’ve been following you,’ he whispered, just audible over the roar of the energies filling the chamber.

  Saeng felt her shoulders fall as the realization struck. Of course! The wild men of the woods. What a fool I’ve been! ‘Kenjak,’ she began, speaking very slowly, ‘you must listen to me. You mustn’t interfere here. This is very important.’

  He waved for silence and the hands, Myint’s, tightened about her neck. He stepped up even closer, close enough to kiss her. ‘Oh, important,’ he said, mocking her delivery. ‘Well … I have something important to do as well.’ He raised a blade between their faces. ‘Something I’ve had to wait far too long to do.’

  The hands were vices at her neck but she forced out, ‘Jak – I’m worth much more alive.’

  ‘Fuck that!’ he yelled spraying spittle in her face. ‘Fuck them all! I swore I’d have your head and I mean to collect.’ He pressed the blade’s razor edge under her chin.

  The man is insane! Utterly transported with hatred. What can I do? There is nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  The hands at her throat flew away. Gagging sounded behind her. Jak’s gaze shifted to over her shoulder and puzzlement creased his brow. ‘What …?’ He jerked back a step, knocking Saeng backwards into the side of the dais. Another figure now blocked the entrance and Saeng thought dazedly, Of course – why not?

  It was the Thaumaturg, Pon-lor. He appeared even worse for wear than these ragged bandits. Saeng couldn’t even believe he was standing; dried caked b
lood covered his shoulder and side. The left side of his head was a crusted wound. One eye stared upwards but the other was fixed upon Jak. A smile that could only be described as ironic crooked one edge of the man’s mouth.

  ‘No …’ Jak breathed. ‘You are dead. You must be …’

  The horrific figure mouthed something. His words were distorted, but Saeng understood despite the sizzling and crackling punishing her ears: ‘Perhaps I am. No matter.’

  Something thumped to the ground and Saeng peered over to see Myint, her face contorted in terror and utterly bloodless, her own hands at her throat. Had he compelled that? Self-throttling? Or had she died fighting for breath?

  Thet-mun appeared from behind the dais to throw himself at Pon-lor’s feet. ‘I am yours again!’ he pleaded. He raised his hands as if in prayer. ‘Please! I will serve. Remember? Remember how I served you before? Yes?’

  Jak leaped to take Saeng’s arm. He pressed the knife to her neck once more. Yet she could hardly spare all this any attention, for the blood continued to flow from Hanu, and his chest rose with such effort, and so slowly.

  The Thaumaturg looked down – or rather one eye shifted to peer down. The other continued to look off in another direction. ‘Thet,’ he mumbled from the side of his mouth, ‘I told you. I warned you. Go home, I said.’

  Thet, his hands clasped together, nodded eagerly. ‘Yes! I will! I promise.’

  Pon-lor shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry … it is too late.’

  The lad looked confused. He lowered his hands. ‘What …?’

  Pon-lor gestured with one hand and Thet seemed to sag. He slumped to the ground and continued to spread out, running, flowing, until all that was left was wet gleaming bones and limp clothes amid a pool of fluids that disappeared into the cracks of the floor.

  The Thaumaturg’s single eye now rose to Jak, who flinched and pushed the blade even harder into Saeng’s neck. She felt warmth running down her shirt-front from the cut he made. ‘I’ll kill her!’ he yelled. ‘I swear!’

  Pon-lor just shook his head as if all this was so very tiring. ‘Jak … I’m sorry, but she could have destroyed you at any time of her choosing.’

  The blade withdrew a fraction. ‘What?’ he said, mystified.

  And Saeng knew it was the truth even as Pon-lor said it. Yes … I could have. I am standing next to a source of power unmatched in this age and all I have to do is reach out – yet they will know the instant I do.

  ‘But unlike you,’ the young Thaumaturg continued, ‘she is no murderer. You should thank her. I, however, do not share such high principles.’ He curled the fingers of his left hand – his right had so far hung limp at his side – and Jak was yanked from Saeng’s side as surely as if he’d been plucked from a cliff. The bandit leader fell to his knees before Pon-lor.

  ‘Go ahead!’ the youth bellowed. ‘You rich bastards always win in the end, don’t you? Spoiled brat! It isn’t fair! You’ve had all the advantages all your life!’ The Bandit Lord was fighting tears and Saeng now saw how he was perhaps even younger than she, or the mage.

  Pon-lor continued to shake his head, as if saddened by this entire affair. ‘Jak … you have no idea. You grew up in a village, yes? In a family, with a father and a mother, a place to sleep, food on your table …’ He grimaced and his odd eye rolled aimlessly. ‘I cannot remember my childhood. There are images …’ he winced again, pained. ‘Jak … I was taken by the Thaumaturgs from the streets of Anditi Pura where I’d been abandoned to fend for myself. I never knew my mother or my father. I grew up sleeping in alleyways that were nothing more than open sewers. I fought packs of dogs for trash thrown into gutters. I throttled other children over rags and scraps of food you yourself would have turned away from in disgust. I …’ His voice caught and he blinked to master himself. Tears fell from both eyes. ‘And here you … Well, no matter. Your only defence is that you are utterly ignorant. Similarly, however, your crime is that you chose to remain ignorant. Therefore, I condemn you for wilful ignorance and blind self-centred self-pity.’

  Pon-lor clenched his one good hand and Jak gagged. He dropped his dagger. His hands flew to his neck as if he would prise unseen fetters from round his throat.

  ‘Choke on the truth you have rejected all your life, Kenjak Ashevajak – Bandit Lord.’

  Jak tottered, gagging yet, and fell. His breath, together with all the tension in his convulsing frame, sighed from him in one last long exhalation and he stilled.

  Saeng blinked. The spell that had held her fascinated faded away. She ran past Pon-lor to kneel at her brother’s side. ‘Hanu! Speak to me!’ she sent, pleading.

  No answer came, though his chest still rose and fell in light panted breaths.

  Pon-lor limped to her. He took hold of her arm to lift her to her feet. ‘I will do what I can to heal him. You must do what you have to.’

  She squeezed his shoulder, looked up to meet his good eye. ‘Yes! Thank you. And … I’m sorry … I was wrong.’

  ‘As was I. You were right all along. Now go. Do what you can.’

  ‘But they will know!’

  ‘I will hold them off for as long as I can.’

  ‘But you are no master!’

  A sad half-smile lifted one edge of his mouth. ‘As you can see, my mind is now working in a strange new way. I see things … differently. In a way none of them can. They will find it very difficult to penetrate my thoughts. Now go.’

  He urged her away, but before he released her arm it seemed as if he would lower his face to her, only to quickly turn away to Hanu. She caught his hand and squeezed it and the brow over his good eye rose in surprise, and gratitude. She turned to the pillar of coursing energies and readied herself.

  The trick, she knew, was to allow the power to run through one’s self without any interference or attempt at redirection. That was the hard part – resisting the urge to manipulate. Terror alone would drive her to do so. The driving urge to self-preservation.

  She glanced back to see Pon-lor demonstrating surprising strength in snapping the spear haft then yanking it one-handed from Hanu’s armoured back. Encouraged by that, she stepped up on to the dais. She had her defences raised as tautly as she knew how, yet even so the raging stream of spinning sizzling power appeared to be able to snuff her to ashes instantly. She had to yield to what had been instilled in her all these many years: the training, the discipline, the insights. But most of all, the trust. Trust in one’s abilities. Trust enough to make that leap, and that release.

  All her powers heightened, her arms out, she stepped into the flow.

  * * *

  Murk decided that he was getting the feel for this jungle tramping. All one had to do was turn one’s expectations completely round – that was all. Instead of hacking and slashing one’s way through the dense brush all one had to do was let go the idea of beating it down. Which was pretty much impossible anyway. What you had to do was slip through all kinda sideways and there you went. It was just another way of moving. A way that didn’t push against all the league after league of spines and trees and poisonous vines.

  And as for all the damned biting, stinging and sucking bugs – once you had a thick enough layer of dirt smeared over you and kept there by your oils and sweat, they never bothered you again. It was like they couldn’t smell you any more. Just like Sour said. There you go. His partner had finally found his place in the world. And it was the one place no one else wanted ever to be. Go figure it. Well, once they returned to civilization he’d be blundering round once more all wide-eyed stupid, and Murk’d have to take him in hand again.

  And the diet. Well, once you got your head round the obvious idea that you really ought to eat what was literally growin’ on the trees around you and crawlin’ all over everything in limitless numbers, then your problem was solved. As to the taste, well, that wasn’t so bad once you got used to it. Tasted like nuts, really.

  He walked near the middle of the loose column alongside the litter with Dee and Ostler. Sour
had survived his mission to cut off the arm of a Seguleh but it had been a close thing. The woman had grabbed his throat the moment she understood what was going on and only the intervention of her employer, Rissan, had saved the man’s life. He was out front now, ranging with the scouts. Their guest walked with the captain towards the rear. The bodyguard, Ina, had lived up to the reputation of the Seguleh in being back on her feet the day after the amputation. She walked behind Rissan. The stump ending at her elbow was wrapped in cloth and tied tight to her body. She hadn’t said a thing to anyone since that night and walked with her head hanging low. Murk thought he understood something of what she must be feeling. Imagine, a one-armed Seguleh! Sounded like a bad joke. Still, if she really was one, then even with her off hand she was probably more deadly than any of them.

  The going was easier now. They’d entered a region of open parklike woods. The upper canopy was solid, but below, the ground was mostly open, even dusty, with almost no brush. It looked almost manicured. He saw files of ants walking along, each carrying off a piece of the fallen leaf litter. The mystery, then, of where all the fallen detritus had gone was solved. They’d seen those half-creatures shadowing them at a discreet distance. So far, none had attacked. They seemed content merely to monitor their progress.

  With the sun beating down it was now damned hot. Water was their main worry. Sour had them sucking on stems and fruits for moisture. Still, Murk was feeling the heat, and he knew the signs of water-starvation; he’d seen enough of it in the army. The night rains vanished instantly. Yusen had everyone capturing what they could in any remaining containers, while Sour showed them how to use big leaves to do the same.

  As it was wont to do these last few days, Murk’s gaze drifted down to the litter with its rags and the burden wrapped within. Was he doing the right thing? She’d expressed her will and he chose to respect that. Though doubts harried and bit at him like these damned bugs, he was still of the opinion that he was right to do so. It was a question not of right or wrong, but of respect. He had to respect this thing as a separate entity fully capable of making up its own mind. Even if it looked and sounded like a child.