The Malazan Empire Series: (Night of Knives, Return of the Crimson Guard, Stonewielder, Orb Sceptre Throne, Blood and Bone, Assail) (Novels of the Malazan Empire)

by Ian C. Esslemont

  The troop of longtail monkeys had returned – or another of the tribe. In any case, they travelled alongside their course, swinging from limb to limb. They had no trouble in keeping up with the ship’s sluggish progress. Their moustached, wise faces peered from among the boughs, eyes bright and black.

  As the vessel pushed beneath overhanging branches, leaves and the luminous petals of countless blossoms rained down upon everyone. Shimmer brushed the gold and purple showers from her shoulders. The littered deck appeared as festive as if decorated for the parades of Fanderay’s revival.

  They moved through an eerie half-light now. Neither day nor night. It seemed as if she was dreaming. A strange jade glow pervaded all the space beneath the thick canopy that extended above them from all sides. The light reminded her of that unearthly greenish luminosity that comes just before the clouds of a massive storm. Here, however, it never went away.

  Then the Serpent rounded a bend in what now seemed nothing more than a stagnant swamp. Rutana, near the vine-draped bow, stiffened and pointed ahead. Her breath left her in a loud hiss. Something jutted out among the bobbing lilies and fat table-like leaves. It was just submerged, a stone ledge of some sort, algae-green, canted as if it had sunk into its foundation. The Serpent glided up to the ledge and came to a gentle halt.

  ‘We are arrived,’ the woman announced.

  Shimmer scanned the jungle shore. She saw nothing but interminable trees, low brush and grass. Insects sent up a constant low buzz. ‘Arrived? There is nothing here!’

  The woman’s harsh gaze sharpened even more and her lips pulled back from her teeth in her perpetual sneer. ‘Yes, there is.’

  ‘We are here,’ whispered a faint voice from beside her and she spun, jerking; K’azz had come up next to her. ‘I sense her. She is close.’

  ‘Where?’ Shimmer demanded of Rutana.

  The woman shrugged, unconcerned. She waved a hand, all sinew and bone, to indicate the jungle. ‘About.’

  Shimmer clenched her jaws until her teeth ached. Turgal, Cole and Amatt had joined them, as had Lor-sinn and Gwynn. They carried their gear, their armour and weapons, all rolled under their arms. Cole handed Shimmer’s over.

  K’azz studied them. He motioned to the shore. ‘Disembark.’

  Shimmer nodded her assent; how glad she was to finally be rid of this rotting hulk! And yet, at the same time, it had come to feel safe. As if all the potential dangers surrounding them couldn’t touch them while they occupied it. A kind of floating sanctuary where they were held inviolate. But held by whom?

  The vessel was now so low she could let herself down over the side to touch the sunken wharf. Her sandals slipped and slid on the thick algae. The stone appeared to be granite. She carefully edged her way ashore. And what unusual land: ochre-stained sandy soil, soft and loamy to her feet. It felt strange to be off the vessel. Turgal, Cole and Amatt followed. On shore, they undid the belts binding up their gear and armoured themselves. Shimmer followed suit. Gwynn leaned upon his tall staff while Lor studied the surrounding jungle. She blew her hair from her face; catching Shimmer’s eye, she shook her head in obvious dismay. After private words with Rutana and Nagal, K’azz came ashore. He wore a plain thin shirt and trousers. A longsword hung from a belt slung over one shoulder. His emaciated form, all bones and ligaments, appalled Shimmer; had he been sick? With his long greying hair and beard the man resembled more a castaway than a mercenary commander. What would Ardata think of him?

  And what will Skinner think? He won’t come quietly. Yet K’azz is not concerned.

  Turgal pulled on his rusted helmet. He hefted his wide infantryman’s shield and a loud tearing noise pulled everyone’s attention to him. The shield fell from his arm, its leather straps rotted through. He drew his hand-and-a-half sword, brought it overhead, then smashed it down on the shield, which shattered as if it were made of paper. He picked up the remains and with a yell of fury tossed them into the channel. He yanked off his helmet and squeezed it in his gauntleted hands: its visor broke off and the shell creaked and deformed as he pressed upon it. Furious, his face flushed, the man tossed this too into the channel. Next went his gauntlets, the leather straps holding the various plates together also obviously rotten. He was in a quivering rage, gazing down at his hauberk of banded iron. He took hold of his weapon belt and yanked. It too ripped from him. ‘Dammit all to the Abyss!’ he yelled to everyone. ‘Are we to run around bare-arsed?’

  ‘Not me, thank you,’ answered Lor.

  Cole laughed, as usual the one to find humour in the situation. ‘Too bad,’ he offered Lor, winking.

  ‘Skinner will laugh,’ Amatt observed darkly.

  K’azz raised a hand for quiet. ‘We’re not here to fight,’ he said.

  Amatt was unbuckling his armour. ‘Then why are we here?’ he demanded.

  It struck Shimmer as no coincidence that now that they had left the river behind, together with the otherworldly glamour that suffused it, all the questions and fears that had somehow been suppressed were boiling over. She fingered her own suit of fine mail. The links were stiff and rusty. It was more of a danger to her than any weapon thrust: it would poison her blood. She began untying her belt. ‘Well?’ she added, eyeing K’azz.

  Their commander scanned the nearby woods. What he saw there, or failed to see, made him wince. He scratched his scalp. ‘We’re here to try to bring as many as we can back into the fold. Remember that.’

  ‘What of Skinner?’ Gwynn asked.

  ‘We’ll see.’

  Cole threw down his ruined gear and took up his two sheathed swords, which he swung together over a shoulder. ‘Fine. Now what?’ he asked.

  K’azz scratched a cheek. ‘We’re on our own. Rutana made that plain. I suggest we find some shelter, or make it.’

  Gwynn nodded, stroking his beard. ‘Very good. Let’s have a look round.’

  Their commander started walking and they fell in behind. Shimmer chose to take the rear. She’d had no idea what awaited them of course, but this certainly was not what she’d expected. Where was the great sprawling urban centre? The great structures? Not even truncated ruins poked up here or there through the trees. What of the towers of gold? The pavement of gems? All figments of the imagination of the few survivors who managed to escape Ardata’s green abyss?

  At least the jungle floor was clear. Trees stood as isolated emergents towering far into the sky. Their bases were as large round as huts, while their root systems sprawled across the surface like veins and arteries. They came to a broad open field bordered by tall trees. K’azz led them out on to it. The ground was beaten hard here, tufted by grass. It appeared to be a long concourse of some sort, extending further than many marshalling fields laid end to end. At its far edge lay a heap of dressed granite blocks that might have once formed a raised course but were now heaved and jumbled. K’azz paused before these. Among them lay tarnished bronze bowls and the remains of countless clay pots and cups, so many they formed heaps of their own. Faded flags and scarves draped the stones while drawings were scrawled over every open surface: the squares and circles of ritual protections. Over everything lay a dusting of flower petals all in iridescent blues, pinks and crimsons. Forests of incense sticks stood jammed into cracks and in the dirt. Smoke still curled from some.

  Shimmer exchanged a look with everyone at that.

  Turgal had salvaged one belt to wear over his padded, sweat-stained gambeson. His sword in its mildewed rotting sheath hung from it. He eased the blade free with his thumb. Shimmer wore her whipsword at her back.

  After silently regarding the offerings for a time, K’azz led them aside and they re-entered the cathedral-like aisles of the trees. At length they came to a cluster of abandoned collapsed huts consisting of nothing more than bamboo poles and dried palm fronds.

  So much for the legendary Jakal Viharn, shining city in the jungle, Shimmer reflected. Hovels where worshippers squatted in the dirt. Travellers who had survived such privation to reach here must have b
een driven mad by the discovery. All that suffering for naught! No wonder the exaggerations and reported marvels.

  K’azz took hold of a pole and straightened it. He picked up a length of root used as lashing and began retying it. Amatt and Cole exchanged a look then went off into the woods, perhaps seeking fresh leaves or bamboo stalks. Gwynn and Lor-sinn followed. Turgal remained, a hand at his weapon.

  Shimmer let out a long even breath, set her hands on her hips. The sun now glared down hot on the top of her head. Sweat ran down her neck and arms. ‘And what do we eat?’ she wearily asked K’azz while he rebuilt the hut.

  ‘There is much to eat here in Viharn,’ answered a voice from behind her.

  Turgal cursed, spinning, his sword scraping free. Shimmer merely turned, one brow rising. She flinched at what she saw: it was a woman, but her shape was grotesque. Illness or disease had twisted and deformed half her body. One side of her face and skull was covered in coarse knobbled flesh. One arm hung swollen to three or four times the girth of the other. Its flesh was coarse and rough, as were her legs. As clothes she wore a plain pale wrap of some sort of woven plant fibre. ‘One merely has to know where to look,’ she continued, unabashed by their reactions.

  K’azz lowered Turgal’s raised blade. ‘We are grateful for your advice,’ he said.

  ‘You are welcome.’ She seemed to study Shimmer very closely with her one good eye – the other was clouded white. Then she turned her attention to K’azz. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘We are here to see Ardata.’

  ‘All seekers are welcome.’

  ‘Thank you. Where is she? We do not see her.’

  ‘She is here. Just because you do not see her does not mean she is not here.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Turgal muttered and slammed his sword home.

  ‘We would like to meet her,’ K’azz continued.

  ‘That is entirely up to you.’

  Shimmer blew out a breath and turned a quizzical look on K’azz. He raised his brows. ‘I … see. My thanks.’

  The woman bowed and walked off. Her gait was agonizingly slow and awkward as she swung her deformed legs. Her swollen club feet dragged through the dirt.

  ‘How did she sneak up on us?’ Turgal wondered aloud, watching her go.

  Shimmer moved to bring her head close to K’azz. She found she was unable to take her gaze from the retreating form. ‘Is that the disease that kills all feeling in the flesh?’ she asked, her voice low.

  K’azz’s eyes also followed the woman as she went. It seemed to Shimmer that the figure projected a quiet dignity. ‘No,’ he said. ‘That is no disease. She was born that way. Caught halfway into a transformation from human into something else.’

  ‘Something else?’

  He shrugged to say he knew not what. ‘She must have in her heritage the touch of a shapechanger. This is how it manifested itself.’

  A shudder of horror took Shimmer. Gods! No wonder the old dread of shapechangers. Yet what an awful fate. And not of her choosing! Sympathy for the woman touched her. She’d probably been driven out of her community. Denounced as evil or corrupting simply because of her appearance. Cruelty and ignorance, it seemed, lay everywhere.

  Turgal stood quietly for a time, arms crossed, watching K’azz struggle with assembling the bamboo poles. Finally, letting go an impatient curse, he joined him. ‘Start with the short pieces.’

  ‘I was thinking more of a lean-to.’

  ‘And when it rains? You’ll want a platform.’

  ‘Ah! No wonder. I see.’

  Shaking her head, Shimmer left them to argue the niceties of hut construction. She walked among the immense grey-barked trees. She went without fear; after going to such trouble to bring them here, it seemed to her that Ardata would hardly allow them to be torn to pieces. Her wandering took her deep into the jungle. Something of the manicured nature of the land struck her. It was so flat – cultivated at one time, probably. Perhaps rice paddies. Yet these trees … so evenly spaced. Cultivated as well? A food source? Or some other resource?

  Circling one giant emergent trunk, its base a series of arches taller than her, she suddenly came face to face with Rutana. The woman held her habitual scowl. She peered past Shimmer to make certain they were alone.

  ‘As you can see – there’s nothing here,’ she said.

  Shimmer held her arms loose, ready to act. ‘There was. Once. I think.’

  ‘Perhaps. Long ago. But not now. You should go.’

  ‘I know. You don’t want us here.’

  ‘You mock but you have come for nothing. There is nothing here.’

  ‘I was just assured that there is.’

  The woman advanced upon her. The forest of amulets about her neck rattled and swayed as she swung a leg over a root. An inhuman intensity shone in her eyes. ‘Do you think you are special?’ she hissed.

  ‘No.’

  ‘She won’t come to you.’

  ‘I was told that was up to me.’

  Rutana snorted her scorn. ‘They wait. They pray. But she does not come. She cares nothing for their desires. Their demands.’

  Shimmer was slowly backing away. ‘What does she care for?’

  The woman pressed a fist to her bony chest. ‘Strength! Power!’

  ‘Was that why she came to Skinner?’

  A cruel smile now crept up the witch’s lips and she chuffed a harsh laugh. ‘No, fool. Your Vow.’

  ‘What of the Vow?’

  ‘Ask your commander. You are all of you doomed. I would almost pity you if I did not loathe you so.’

  ‘Doomed? How?’

  Rutana waved an arm as if casting her away. ‘Ask K’azz. Not me.’ She turned her back and walked off.

  Shimmer stood still for some time. Leaves fell from on high. Birds whistled and shrieked far above. Distantly, like an echo of thunder, the roar of a hunting cat reverberated through the clearing. In that suspended moment she thought she’d come close to an answer – a hint of what the woman meant. But then it was gone in the wind brushing through the canopy and the rasping of the dead leaves as they swirled about her sandals.

  She walked on, distracted. She hardly noticed her surroundings as she grasped after the hint that had touched her thoughts. After a time something blocked her way. Blinking, she became aware that she stood at the lip of a broad sheet of water. It was a reservoir wider than a city block. It ran north as long as a city’s main concourse. Lily pads dotted its glass-smooth surface. The sun was almost set now, the day having passed unnoticed. The shadows had gathered a deep mauve and edged closer. As she watched, entranced, the sun’s slanting amber rays lit upon the perfectly still surface of the artificial lake and the sheet seemed to erupt into molten gold that rippled and blazed with its own internal fires.

  It suddenly struck her vision as an immense causeway paved in sheets of gold. And sparks flashed here and there as tiny waves from insects alighting, or fish feeding, gently rippled the surface. The gems, perhaps, glimmering and beckoning.

  She stood utterly still for the time it took the setting sun’s rays to edge their way across the surface. When they slipped away, they disappeared all at once as if snuffed out. The reservoir’s west border was perfectly aligned for the effect.

  She took a deep breath – had she even breathed the entire time? She felt so calm. All her worries struck her as trivial, completely unimportant. What mattered any of it in the face of such an immensity of time and space? She felt as if she could remain here for an eternity contemplating such questions. Perhaps, she reflected, the sensation derived from the satisfaction of having solved at least one of the mysteries of Jakal Viharn, city of gold.

  * * *

  It took some time, but eventually Pon-lor had to admit that he’d lost the trail of the yakshaka, Hanu. He’d backtracked a number of times searching for sign. Now the light was fading and the marks of his own passage helped obscure any certainty he might have felt regarding the trail. As night gathered he gave it up as worthless. He’d t
ry again in the morning. The question, then, was what to do for the night.

  Night in Himatan. Alone. Not a promising prospect. He’d got through last night by climbing a tree and tying himself in. Even so, he’d hardly slept. Large night hunters prowled all through the hours, chasing other things. Sudden bursts of calls or screeching announced close escapes, or panicked last struggles. His training might allow him to forgo sleep for some time, but there was no dire need to delve into that yet.

  Off to one side the ground rose. He headed in that direction. Here he found a hillock of sloping talus and broken stone topped by a steeper rising cliff riddled in caves, now mostly choked by the accumulated detritus of centuries. Mature trees crowned the rise, gripping it in gnarled fists of roots. Underfoot hard talus shifted, grating, and he bent down to select one of the fragments. He brushed it off: it was flat and slightly curved. It was not stone. It was earthen pottery.

  Startled by this he staggered slightly, backwards, to peer up and down along the slope, a good two man-heights above the surrounding plain. Great ancients! A garbage heap the size of a village! No, the remains of a village. Generation after generation squatting in the same spot, dropping their litter and tamping it into the ground. Simply astounding. And now, the slow work of the ages conspired to wipe from the surface even these last vestiges of humanity’s presence.

  He crouched down before the largest cave. It actually had the look of an animal burrow but he could not be sure. He brought out a cloth bag containing the bulbs and fruit he’d collected through the day. One by one he inspected his finds. Some he rejected, not certain they conformed to Thet-mun’s descriptions of safe foods. The rest he replaced in the bag then brushed the dirt from his hands. Now for a fire. Humanity’s best defence against the chills and the horrors of the night. Yet was it not also humanity’s challenge, as well? The unmistakable brazen shout to the night: come and get me? Something to consider into the long hours.

  He went to collect firewood. Once he’d assembled a pile great enough to last the night he set to priming the fire. Not a skill high on the Thaumaturg curriculum. Dry tinder he clumped together, along with a strip of cloth torn from the edge of his robes. Now for the application of his true training: the focusing of power on to one tiny point, thereby agitating the particles of the field of Aether that pervaded all creation. This in turn should bring into being … he turned all his mental energy upon the task, easing out his breath in a long soft hiss, his hands hovering just above the tinder … a spark.