The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02

by Ricardo Pinto

  By a narrow defile, they entered the valley which, Fern told Carnelian, the Tribe considered its own. Men that had been sent ahead waved down from the craggy heights to indicate the place was free of danger. Once through that gateway, the aquar fanned out and Carnelian found he was walking into a long and narrow valley, green-walled and watered by a stream.

  People all around him sighed their relief, kicking their hot feet through the coolness of the ferns lining its banks. Eastwards, the mountains rose dipped in the cool blue of the fading afternoon. For Carnelian it was a sacrament to kneel before the glimmering stream. He bent to scoop a tiny pool into his cupped hands and, blinded by its dazzle, drank. He winced as the water drove its iciness through his teeth and deep into the bones of his face, then laughed with the sheer pleasure of it. When he had drunk his fill, with Poppy holding his hand, they went to luxuriate in the shadow of a tree.

  IN THE MOUNTAINS

  Height sees further

  further sight brings knowing

  so, is it not fitting

  that our Father should choose to live in the sky? (a precept of the Plainsmen)

  The blue of the mountains suffused the stream. Air so fresh it almost hurt to breathe it; so clear it seemed to Carnelian that should he stretch out his hand he might cut his fingers on the peaks.

  'Up there, each breath must be as pure as light,' he said to Fern.

  'It's where we believe the Skyfather rests after the effort of making rain.'

  As they walked back to the camp, Carnelian delighted in the wash of emerald ferns against his legs. The people were ranged along the margin of the stream, watching the children scattering diamond spray as they gambolled in the shallows. Mothers were pleating their daughters' hair. Fathers were showing their sons how to knap flint into blades. Here and there Carnelian saw billows of steam rising from pots stewing djada and fiddleheads. Under the water near the bank, bowls were filled with dried berries swelling. The Elders lay under the still-flowering trees talking, smiling as they watched the children play. Lovers lay together, playing with each other's hair, smiling, nuzzling each other with whispers.

  Fear clutched Carnelian that such peace should be threatened by Osidian's discontent. Taking his leave of Fern, he went searching for him, determined to force whatever plans he had out into the open. He found him standing away from the Tribe, alone save for Ravan. Carnelian saw how much they resembled a Sapient with his homunculus and shuddered. He decided he would try to talk to Osidian later, when he might hope to find him alone, but just then Osidian turned and looked his way. He still had not washed the hornblack from his face. Carnelian suspected he wore the colour as a mask. It made his eyes so bright and compelling. Carnelian approached and was relieved when Osidian dismissed Ravan. Carnelian glimpsed the youth's envy before, with a nod that was almost a bow, he moved away. Carnelian watched him go, not ready to confront Osidian. He marshalled his arguments, then faced him.

  'His obsession with you eats at him like a canker.'

  Osidian shrugged as if at some pleasantry. He lifted his perfect eyes to survey the mountains.

  They are wondrous tall...' Carnelian said.

  Osidian gave a slow nod. They remind me of the Sacred Wall.'

  For a moment he seemed again the boy in the Yden, and Carnelian discovered from the hammering of his heart that he still felt love for him. Shocked, he reached out but stopped short of touching, afraid he might cause the moment to vanish like a reflection in water. Osidian noticed the movement. Carnelian could see the mask of indifference slipping back over Osidian's face and blurted out the first thing that came into his mind.

  'We ... we could climb them together.'

  Seeing Osidian poised between who he had been and who he had become, Carnelian added, quickly: The two of us . . . alone . . . in air untainted by mortal breathing. They claim their sky god lives there.'

  Osidian frowned, considering it. For a moment Carnelian was certain he had pushed him too hard, but then the boy in Osidian looked him in the eyes and nodded.

  Carnelian was rolling some djada to take with them. 'Are you sure I won't need to ask your mother for permission?'

  Fern shook his head. There's no escape up there.'

  Carnelian packed the djada. 'Will you tell Poppy and keep her with you? If I tell her she'll hate it; perhaps even follow me.'

  Fern nodded, frowning. 'Are you sure you want to go, alone, with him?'

  'We need to talk and down here he'll not open up.'

  Carnelian saw the depths of Fern's feelings. 'He'd never harm me.'

  The answer seemed to confuse Fern. He reached for a waterskin. 'I'll fetch you some water.'

  'That would weigh us down too much,' said Carnelian. He looked at Fern, trying to work him out. Could it be jealousy? 'We'll take what we need from the stream. We'll not be away more than a day or two.'

  He hoisted the pack and went off to meet Osidian. When he glanced back, he saw Fern watching him. There was a part of Carnelian that took pleasure at seeing Fern annoyed.

  Carnelian ignored the look of indolence on Osidian's painted face. Part of him was already regretting the expedition. 'Come, my Lord,' he said in Quya and made off along the bank.

  The stream filled the air with its babble. Birds screamed as they knifed through the air. The valley funnelled up into a twilit gorge where the stream quickened, its deeper voice vibrating the air. Their path narrowed so that they had to go one behind the other, their skin dampened by the spray. Light began filtering brighter through the ferns and soon they were coming up into cool, open land. They drew the pure wind into their lungs. Seeing how alive Osidian's eyes had become, how lustily he climbed, Carnelian allowed himself to believe he was seeing the boy he had loved.

  There is something in this of the climb we made back up to the Halls of Thunder.'

  Carnelian knew immediately he had made a mistake. Osidian grew morose. 'My dear mother and her son will be up there now ruling in my place.'

  It was nearing the middle of the day when, already high up a shoulder of the mountains, they came to where the stream foamed in steps into a deep, clear pool. Small trees grew around it, and arching ferns. Carnelian unrolled a blanket he had brought upon a narrow shelf of rock and they sat on it, lowering their feet into the spray, listening to the gurgle of the stream.

  Carnelian saw Osidian was blind to the place; deaf to it. He followed the drop of his forehead, the jutting of his nose, the paler lips set in the black face.

  'Here I might even forget Osrakum,' he tried, tentatively.

  'Never,' said Osidian without turning.

  His bitterness made Carnelian angry. 'Can you not even here allow yourself some peace?'

  Osidian turned to look at him. 'Have you truly found peace?'

  Carnelian gazed up at the mountains and then back into Osidian's eyes, greener than the sun through the ferns. 'It is beautiful and we are alone together as we have not been since the Yden.'

  'An abyss has opened between us.'

  'Ravan?'

  Osidian laughed. 'You believe I could love such a creature?'

  Carnelian looked away to hide his vexation.

  'I used him to meet my needs; to wound you.'

  Carnelian met his gaze. 'Fern, then?'

  The pupils of Osidian's eyes contracted. 'Your tastes afflict me but deeper betrayals have dug the ground from under my feet.'

  When the sybling Hanuses had told Carnelian that without him they would have been unable to capture Osidian, that accusation had lodged its barb in Carnelian's heart. Now it gave a twist that brought tears to his eyes.

  Osidian reached up and stole a tear. Things can never again be as once they were.' He tasted the wetness on his finger. 'I have no more tears.'

  Carnelian took hold of him by his shoulders. 'Where are you?'

  Osidian broke his grip and turned back to watch the flow. 'Alone, standing on a pinnacle from which there leads only a single, precarious path.'

  Carnelian saw the pain
on Osidian's face and yearned to kiss it but had lost his way to him.

  'Would you not feel better if you washed the blackness from your face?'

  'Would it wash the blackness from my heart?'

  Carnelian remembered the razors he had thought to bring. 'Surely you would enjoy once more to have your head smooth?'

  Osidian looked at him, then shrugged, but Carnelian could see he was intrigued. He opened the pack and on a corner of the blanket laid out the things he had packed.

  There was a small pot and a handful of flint razors. He was pleased when he saw Osidian showing interest in these preparations. Osidian allowed him to unwind the uba from his head. Carnelian saw the rope scar. Osidian's hair was thick and Carnelian liked the feel of it, but he began to shear it off. He sensed Osidian examining him as he worked. The flints yanked at the hair but Osidian did not seem to feel any pain. After a while, Carnelian sat back. Osidian's head was covered with a thick uneven stubble. Carnelian smiled. 'You look somewhat bizarre.'

  He went to scoop some water from the pool. It was ice in his hands but Osidian did not flinch when Carnelian trickled it over his head. He thumbed some of the paste from the pot and rubbed it between the palms of his hands. Seeing Osidian's raised eyebrows, he said: 'It is a kind of soap they make from ochre, ashes and fat which the women use. It will make the blades gbde.'

  He lathered the red stuff over Osidian's head, disliking its look of blood. With care he began to scrape the stubble off with a flint, making sure he turned to a new edge before the previous one became blunt.

  When he was done, he urged Osidian to go and wash. Osidian surprised him. He threw off his robe and slid naked into the pool. Carnelian cried out with joy as he watched him submerge.

  When Osidian broke the surface, his face was white. He clambered out, dripping, and Carnelian got up and welcomed him into the blanket, wrapping it round him, kissing his reddened scalp.

  Osidian embraced him hard through the blanket. 'Surely you don't imagine I'm prepared to suffer all this alone?'

  Carnelian melted into the comfort of his arms, his Vulgate, his boyish smile. He shivered with delight as he allowed Osidian to shave him. His black hair fell around him onto the rock as Osidian's arms crossed and recrossed his line of sight. Carnelian had plenty of time to decide he liked the new honeyed tones of Osidian's skin.

  When it was done, Osidian stood up and with mock imperiousness pointed at the pool. 'In there.'

  Carnelian did as he was told, disrobing and leaping into the pool before Osidian could push him. He gasped as the iciness engulfed him. But then Osidian was there beside him and the smallness of the pool forced their bodies close. The touching of their skin led to passion. Lust took Carnelian by surprise. Its heat was almost violence. The release when it came left them both gasping. They enjoyed each other again, at first fiercely but then with increasing tenderness until they were left with hardly enough energy to creep into the blanket. They huddled together, getting warm. They grew quiet as a melancholy settled over the glade. The water rushed and foamed. The goose-pimples stood out on their skin as they used its sound to send shivers up and down their backs; ripple upon ripple sheathing them in the ecstasy that was the Chosen sacrament of the feeling from the sound of rain.

  Carnelian felt tension returning to Osidian's body. He needed to talk to him before he retreated back into remoteness. He forced Osidian to turn his head and held it while he looked deep into his eyes.

  'We've enough here for happiness.'

  Osidian tried to shake his head from side to side.

  'Let Osrakum go,' Carnelian pleaded. 'Let it all go. Only when you do will your heart begin to heal.'

  Tears welled into Osidian's eyes and with them, anger. Carnelian was thrown away as Osidian surged to his feet, glaring.

  'I will not let it go,' he bellowed in Quya.

  He threw his head back and let the madness brighten in his eyes.

  'I shall return to where I belong. I shall bring down vengeance on my enemies.' He bent to pick up his robe and threw it on.

  Shocked, Carnelian rose to face him.

  Osidian's eyes were haunted fire. 'You can come with me or remain behind with the savages if that is your desire.'

  Naked to his heart, Carnelian shrugged. He stooped to pick up his robe and put it on, fighting back tears that came from the rage of defeat. He wound his uba round his head. He punched the blanket back into the pack. Saw Osidian waiting for his answer, shrugged again, turned away and, careless of the boulders, strode up the slope.

  They climbed into the heights in angry silence. Carnelian maintained a furious pace until all he could hear was his own harsh breathing. The sun was setting the mountains aflame when they agreed to stop for the night. Carnelian gathered branches with which he made a fire. They sat with the flames between them, nibbling djada. As darkness brought with it bitter cold, the flames dwindled and there was no more fuel. Eventually they were driven into huddling together. Neither said anything. Pride would not allow Carnelian to speak first. Osidian's warm body awakened passion which Carnelian smothered with sleep.

  The sky woke them with its flawless blue. Carnelian sat up and saw the sun had not yet risen above the mountains. He longed for its heat.

  'Shall we go up or down?' Osidian asked.

  Carnelian was sure if they climbed higher another night would kill them, but what was there to return to? Besides, he was not going to admit any fear to Osidian and so he shrugged.

  Osidian's face turned to stone. Then we shall climb.'

  Carnelian was thankful the effort of the ascent put life back into his aching limbs. When the first sun-rays fell on him, Carnelian called for a halt. Both basked like lizards on the rocks while they chewed djada. Then Osidian led them, climbing ever higher until the valley below had become merely a green wedge and the rest of the world spread turquoise and umber into the endless distance.

  They made sure to gather enough wood to keep the fire going well into the night. Still, when he woke the next morning, Carnelian's body was ice and it was with difficulty he managed to move at all. He searched for signs of the Tribe but the land below was still in twilight and he could see nothing moving save for an eagle curving its flight.

  Osidian asked him the same question he had asked the day before and, again, though it cost him, Carnelian gave another shrug. So it was they climbed even higher until Carnelian was rasping breath, the path welling in his vision. They had to stop often to get their breath back; to slow the hammering of their hearts.

  One time Carnelian caught Osidian looking longingly down to the valley, but when he saw he was being observed, Osidian forced them on. That night neither of them could keep anything in their stomachs. They sipped the little water they could find. Even supposing they had had the strength to gather firewood, they had climbed above the trees and there was none to be had. Under a frost of stars, they clung to each other all night and hardly slept.

  In the morning Carnelian could not move. He lay squinting at the sky feeling strangely elated, until a ray of sunlight found his face and woke thought in him.

  'Sky-sickness,' he croaked. He knew it, having suffered from it on his first, over-rapid ascent of the Pillar of Heaven in Osrakum.

  He marshalled his strength and, at last, groaning, managed to roll over. He stared for a long time at the deathly face peering from the blanket before he remembered who it was. Grief came like lightning. Carnelian fell onto Osidian and managed to scrape away the cloth so that his lips found the icy neck beneath. A pounding in his head made him blind. His lips could feel only the merest tremor of life in Osidian's body. Carnelian rolled back and saw nothing but blue. Osidian had not regained his former strength. It would be so easy to fall asleep, to die. Osidian would die with him and the Tribe would finally be rid of them both.

  Carnelian made one last effort and turned his head. He saw Osidian's livid scar. The red mark of the rope. That colour made him dream his life again. Every scene was there. He wept for all th
e suffering but no tears came. He could not move his head and so was forced to watch Osidian die. Carnelian had taken his life from him once, he could not bear to do it again. He tried to sit up. He panicked when he found he had turned to stone. Anger swelled in him until he could hear it roaring in his ears. He pushed and pushed and forced himself to sit up. He shook back and forth, rocking, groaning with each folding of his belly until he felt life returning. Then he concentrated on Osidian; reaching under the blanket to rub his chest, his back, his arms, his legs until, slowly, he brought Osidian back from death.

  They stumbled down towards the valley a few steps at a time, each half carrying the other. Reaching the first trees before nightfall, they collected twigs with trembling fingers. Carnelian almost cried when after much fumbling with their fire-drill he was unable to produce a single spark. Osidian tried. A spark lit hope and they fed this until there was a flame and then a fire.

  That night was milder and, with the morning, they found enough strength to continue the descent. The sun was still low when Carnelian saw smoke rising.

  'We'll be home soon,' he said, pointing.

  Osidian did not turn to look at him but only gave a nod.

  Drums were beating like hearts when Carnelian awoke. The air was warm and fragrant. Branches slipped the blue of the sky between their leaves. He made an effort to sit up and saw he was safe in the heart of the Tribe. He could see children winding a dance through a commotion of preparation. Their young joy gladdened him.

  'Carnie,' a little voice cried, and before he knew it, Poppy had flung herself at him. He hugged her hard, kissed the nape of her neck and muttered: 'I'm glad to see you too.'

  She pulled away from him and stared. 'You're better now?'

  Carnelian was going to ask her what she meant, but then remembered and turned to look round to where the mountains rose purple to the clear sky. It came as a shock when he realized he could not remember reaching the camp.

  Poppy saw his puzzlement. 'We spotted you wandering dazed with the Master.' 'We?'

  'Fern, Sil, many others.' 'How long have I lain ... ?' Two days,' she said. 'And the Master?' 'Ravan is tending him.'