Blood and Bone Read online

  About the Book

  In the western sky, the bright emerald banner of the Visitor descends like a portent of annihilation.

  On the continent of Jacuruku, the Thaumaturgs have mounted another expedition to tame the wild jungle that is their neighbour. Yet this is no normal wilderness. Named Himatan, it is said to be both of the spirit realm and of the earth. It is also said that it is ruled over by a powerful entity some call the Queen of Witches and others the ancient goddess Ardata. Saeng has grown up knowing only life under the Thaumaturgs – but it is the voices of her country’s forgotten past that speak to her. And when these magician rulers begin their invasion of Himatan, the voices strengthen – urging Saeng and her brother to undertake a desperate mission.

  To the south, the desert tribes are united by the arrival of a foreign war leader, a veteran commander in battered mail. His men call him the Grey Ghost and he will lead these tribes on a raid like none that has gone before – deep into the heart of Thaumaturg lands.

  And then the mercenary Crimson Guard are issued a contract against a renegade of their ranks. Skinner has returned to Jacuruku and is rumoured to want to reclaim a kingdom he once held. And who are the Guard to refuse the command of a god?

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Map

  Dramatis Personae

  Prologue

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Also by Ian C. Esslemont

  Copyright

  This novel is dedicated to the memory of my father,

  John Roy Esslemont, 1934–1989.

  You are greatly missed.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  It is with gratitude that I acknowledge my time at the University of Minnesota, where I was encouraged to pursue my interest in nineteenth-century travel writing, colonial texts, and the myths of imperialism. I hope to return to this rich material some day. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction.

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  Thaumaturg Villagers

  Saeng

  A descendant of local priestesses

  Hanu

  Her brother

  Himatan Villagers

  Oroth-en

  Village headman

  Ursa

  A female warrior

  The Mountain Bandits

  Kenjak Ashevajak

  The Bandit Lord

  Loor-San

  Myint

  Thet-mun

  Of the Thaumaturg

  Golan

  Commander of the Army of Righteous

  Chastisement

  U-Pre

  Second in Command

  Thorn

  Principal Scribe of the army

  Waris

  An officer of the army

  Pon-lor

  A newly trained Thaumaturg

  Tun

  An overseer of the army (similar to a sergeant)

  Surin

  The Prime Master of the ruling Circle

  of Masters

  Servants of Ardata

  Rutana

  A witch

  Nagal

  A warrior

  Citravaghra

  The ‘man-leopard’

  Varakapi

  The ‘man-ape’

  Of the Tribes of the Adwami

  Jatal

  A prince of the Hafinaj

  Andanii

  Princess of the Vehajarwi

  Ganell

  A chief of the Awamir

  Sher’ Tal

  Horsemaster of the Saar

  Pinal

  Horsemaster of the Hafinaj

  The Warleader

  A mercenary commander

  Scarza

  His lieutenant

  Of the Crimson Guard Avowed

  K’azz D’Avore

  Commander

  Shimmer

  A captain

  Gwynn

  A mage, once of Skinner’s company

  Lor-sinn

  A mage

  Turgal

  Cole

  Amatt

  Of the Disavowed

  Skinner

  Captain

  Jacinth

  Lieutenant

  Mara

  A mage

  Petal

  A mage

  Red

  A mage

  Shijel

  Weaponmaster

  Black the Lesser

  Hist

  Leuthan

  Of the Malazan Mercenaries

  Yusen

  Captain

  Burastan

  Lieutenant

  Murk

  A mage

  Sour

  A mage

  Ostler

  A soldier

  Tanner

  A soldier

  Dee

  A soldier

  Sweetly

  A scout

  Others

  Ardata

  Also known as the Queen of Witches

  The Queen of

  Also known as the Enchantress, T’riss

  Dreams

  Ina

  A Seguleh, of the top thousand fighters, the

  Jistarii

  The Witch Queen

  Also known as the Queen of Monsters, Ardata

  Old Man Moon

  An elder

  Ripan

  One of his offspring

  Sister Spite

  Daughter of Draconus

  Osserc

  A Tiste Liosan, worshipped by some as a

  sky god

  L’oric

  Son of Osserc

  Gothos

  A Jaghut

  PROLOGUE

  In the third moon of the third year of the Great Drought, we put out to sea from the estuary of Holy Ubaryd. On the fifteenth day of the third moon we arrived at an island of the barbarian Falarese. From then on, we were harassed by contrary winds, which delayed our arrival. Further, we encountered treacherous fields of ice that could only be navigated with the greatest care. It was not until the eleventh moon when we finally dropped anchor at the mouth of a great river. Certain it is that so short a visit cannot encompass all the customs and peculiarities of this country, yet we may at least outline its principal characteristics.

  Ular Takeq

  Customs of Ancient Jakal-Uku

  GHOSTS RULED THE jungles of Jacuruku. Saeng remembered staying awake through the night as she strained to understand their whispered calls. Somehow their murmuring beckoned so much more seductively than her own dreams. One of her earliest memories was of walking alone through moonlit leaves hunting for the source of the jungle’s voice. She’d been utterly self-composed and without fear – as only a child could be. Long into her wandering she distinctly recalled a hand taking hers and guiding her through the dense fronds and stands of damp grasses back to the village. Her mother swept up then, her face wet with tears, to squeeze her to her bony chest while Saeng calmly explained that everything was all right. That there was no need to cry. That a friend had brought her back.

  And of course later everyone swore to seeing her wander in from the dark alone.

  Since then the leagues of impenetrable jungle surrounding the village had held no fear for her. A dangerou
s and, she could admit, rather reckless attitude in a land where flower garlands and prayer scarves festooned trees in honour of countless spirits, restless dead, ghosts, lost forgotten gods, and far too many missing children and adults.

  Growing up she continued to steal away into the woods whenever she could. And there among the hanging vines and leaves dripping night-mist the old spirits of the land came to her and she learned many forgotten things. In the morning she would return from her wanderings through the jungle tracks, her legs and feet sheathed in mud and grass and webs tangled in her hair. At first her mother beat her and twisted her ears. ‘You are no low-bred farmer’s daughter!’ she would screech. ‘We come from an ancient family of priestesses and seers!’

  And often, during the midday meal, her mother would take her hands and always it would be the same story: ‘Saeng,’ she would begin, as if so disappointed in her. ‘Our family has kept the old faith. Not like these ignorant fools surrounding us with their grovelling to idols, charms and amulets. All these superstitious mouthings to earth goddesses, or beast gods, or the cursed God-King, or the Witch – all of these empty words. Or worse. Our family, we women, we descend from the original priestesses of the Sky and the Sun! We worship Light. Remember that! The Light that gives all life!’

  Her mother would try to capture her gaze as if pleading with her to understand but she would glance away, mouthing, ‘Yes, Mother.’ Eventually her mother gave up even these exhortations and she was allowed to continue her wanderings in pursuit of the voices that whispered from the great green labyrinth that surrounded them.

  As she grew older, and her mastery of the whispered teachings grew more assured, she found she could summon these ghosts, which she now knew as the dreaded land and ancestor spirits, the Nak-ta. And as her skills advanced these spirits and shades came to her from ever further into the ancient gulf of the land’s past. And each commanded greater and greater puissance in the manipulation of their talents. In the murmurings of these restless dead she learned how to bind the will of animals, how to interpret the voices of the wind, how to trick the senses, and how to tease knowledge from the earth itself. As she drifted, half asleep, it seemed to her that they stole close to her ears where they whispered of darker secrets. Of ancient forbidden charms, of lost deadly wards, and how to dominate the recesses of the human mind.

  At first she thought nothing of this, even as the shades crowded ever nearer and proved ever more difficult for her to dismiss. Until one night the tenebrous clawed hand of one clutched her arm. Its voice was no more than the sighing of the wind through the leaves as it hissed, ‘The High King will be well pleased with you.’

  She remembered her shock at its frigid touch. ‘All that was dust ages ago.’

  ‘Nay, ’tis of the moment. No more foolishness from you.’ It began to sink into the wet ground, yanking her down by the arm.

  A yell shocked her even more then as a branch swung through the shade, dispersing it. She lay staring up at her elder brother, Hanu, while he glared about, branch readied. Strangely, all she felt was outrage. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.

  He pulled her up. ‘You’re welcome. I’ve been following you. And thank the ancestors for it, too.’

  ‘What?’ She danced away from him. ‘For how long?’

  He shrugged his broad shoulders in the shadowed darkness. ‘Whenever I can. Someone has to keep an eye out while you offer yourself up to these feral spirits.’

  ‘I can control them.’

  ‘Clearly not.’

  ‘That one surprised me, that’s all.’ A sudden thought occurred to her and she drew closer, biting her lip. ‘You’re not … you’re not going to tell Mother, are you?’

  ‘Great Witch, no. She’s worried enough as it is.’

  ‘Well … you can’t stop me.’

  ‘That much is clear as well,’ and he crossed his thick arms, peering down at her.

  She raised her chin in defiance and saw how the sweat of the humid night ran in streams down his face and neck. Through her skills she sensed his drumming heart and rushing blood and she realized: He is terrified. Terrified of the night – just like all of them. Yet he is here. He came to protect me.

  His breathing was heavy as he scanned the deep forest shadows. ‘At least promise me that you’ll wake me, yes? That you won’t go out alone.’ His gaze swung to her, pleading. ‘Yes?’

  And how could she refuse? Her own defiant front melted. ‘Yes, Hanu. I promise.’

  For another year the nights passed in this fashion; she waking her brother and the two stealing out to where she communed with the wild Nak-ta ghosts that haunted the jungle. And with far older spirits of stone, stream and wind. Night after night she sat for hours under the wary gaze of Hanu and spoke to things he could not see nor sense. It was then she realized that while he might protect her from any physical threat, he remained susceptible to their compellings and charms, and so she surreptitiously cast over him protections and guardings against such magics.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ he would sometimes ask from where he squatted under a tree.

  ‘The old dead,’ she’d answer.

  ‘Aren’t you scared?’

  ‘No. They’re dead.’

  Befuddled, he’d throw up his hands. ‘Then – why aren’t they gone?’

  ‘Because they’re angry. Only anger is strong enough to keep the feet of the dead to the ground.’

  Then he would glower because secretly he was afraid. And as the months passed he began to pester her. ‘It isn’t safe,’ he’d say. ‘We shouldn’t be here.’

  And he was right. But not in the way either of them imagined.

  One night she sat on the edge of a choked swampy depression. She was speaking with the shade of a woman who’d been drowned here in what she claimed had once been a great reservoir. In those days, the spirit asserted, its waters had been clear and deeper than a tall man. Among the trees behind her, Hanu pretended he was one of the ancient warrior-kings as he swung a heavy branch.

  ‘Drowned?’ she asked. ‘What do you mean you were drowned?’

  ‘Heavy rocks were tied to me and I was thrown in,’ the shade replied.

  Saeng resisted the urge to curse. Sometimes the dead could be so literal. ‘I mean why were you drowned?’

  ‘I was a priestess of the old faith.’

  ‘The old faith? You mean—’ and Saeng lowered her voice, ‘the damned God-King?’

  ‘No,’ came the uninflected voice of the ghost. ‘Not him. It was at his orders that the temple was burned and I was slain. I speak of the ancient old religion. The worship of Light. The Great Sun.’

  Saeng leaped up from the edge of the swamp. For the first time something said by one of these shades seemed to touch her very heart.

  Hanu appeared at her side. ‘What is it?’ he demanded.

  Saeng’s hand had gone to her throat. ‘A spirit,’ she managed. By the ancients! Could Mother have been right all this time? ‘She claims to be a priestess of an old faith.’

  Hanu waved his contempt. ‘Which? They’re like flies.’

  But she held his gaze long and hard and eventually his brows crimped. ‘No …’ he breathed, and she nodded her certainty.

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘The one Mother goes on about …?’

  ‘The same faith that runs in your blood,’ came the shade’s voice from behind and Saeng jumped once again. She turned on it. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Hanu demanded, peering about.

  The ghost raised an arm, pointing off into the jungle. ‘And now comes your time of trial and your time to choose. Remember all that we have taught.’

  Saeng stared her confusion. ‘What? Taught? What do you mean?’

  The woman clasped her hands before her and it seemed to Saeng that she was peering down at her as if she were her own daughter. ‘Really, child. You did not think that you were called for no reason, did you?’

  ‘What is it?’ Hanu whispered, insis
tent.

  ‘Called?’ But the shade dispersed like smoke. Saeng turned to her brother. ‘It seemed to suggest that something is coming.’

  Hanu frowned, considering. ‘The Choosing is approaching,’ he murmured.

  Of course. The Choosing. Suddenly her heart tripped as if a grip were attempting to stop it. ‘You mustn’t go.’

  He snorted. ‘It’s required, Saeng. We’ll all be arrested if I’m not seen. Ancients, all our neighbours will see to that!’

  Saeng knew what he meant. It was an ugly truth, but better one of another family be chosen than one of theirs.

  A month later the great travelling column of the ruling Thaumaturgs swung through their province. And eventually a representative arrived even at their insignificant village. He came escorted by twenty soldiers and carried in a great palanquin of lacquered wood shaded by white silks.

  Saeng watched from next to her mother among the villagers crowded together by the sharp proddings of the soldiers’ sticks while the menfolk of age lined up for the Choosing. She was apprehensive for Hanu, but not overly so, as it had been years since any son of the village had been selected for service.

  The palanquin was lowered and the theurgist stepped out. He was dressed exquisitely in rich layered silks of deepest sea blue and blossom gold, and was rather fat about the middle, and short. Yet he held the all-important ivory baton of office, which he carried negligently in one ringed hand, swinging it back and forth.