Pulling the encumbrance of his torn uba from his head, Carnelian tried to order his men back, to reform their line, but the hornwall had dissolved into a confused melee. A blackened face came close enough for him to see the veins in its eyes that gaped at him in frozen disbelief. He swung his axe. Blood seemed to be thickening the air so that, as hard as he pushed, his blade took time to reach them. He watched its scalloped edge puncturing blacked skin scarlet. Teeth and foaming gore. Carnelian poured his strength into the killing, ploughing through the thicket of their flesh. Each impact sent a slow judder up his arms. He felt a cut opening his face; a remote bruising impact to his shoulder. He clubbed a man from his path and saw more of them leaping towards him through the carnage of their beasts. Counting them, Carnelian began turning his head, despair rising in him like vomit. His voice erupted even as his people slid into sight. He saw them set upon, harried, too far away for him to help. Other cries were rising above the din of chopping. He could not understand the expression of surprise in the faces he knew. Slow, drawn-out battle-cries were rising from behind their enemies. They faltered. Recognizing the voices as Ochre, new vigour shot from Carnelian's heart down his arms. He could sense the enemy tide turning. Aquar were coming up behind them. He glimpsed the fierce black faces of their rescuers. The Bluedancing were turning away, their faces flaccid with dismay. He saw several collapse under a succession of blows. Some were in full flight. Their backs drew Carnelian on with a lust for slaughter. He surged forward snarling in pursuit. He was in a forest of wounded aquar and shattered saddle-chairs. The earth was trying to suck him down. Through a red haze a man fleeing drew him on. He ducked under a swinging huge clawed foot. First his victim, then Carnelian, reached more solid ground. Carnelian careered in pursuit. Judged the distance. Raked his axe blade down the length of the man's back. The body fell forward vomiting blood. Carnelian slipped on gore. Regaining his footing, he came to a halt, swaying, his mind seeping free of fury. Panting rasped his throat. The axe felt suddenly unbearably heavy in his hand so he let it go.
They ... will ... escape ... us,' he said, between breaths as he watched the Bluedancing streaming away.
'No they won't,' said a voice nearby.
Carnelian turned, beginning to feel the pain of his wounds. It was Fern, heavily lifting his arm to point. Carnelian followed the finger. At first he could not understand what he saw. A rushing, dark, many-legged mass. Then he saw the huge figure at its apex and heard a cold voice raised in a Quyan paean. It was Osidian, bearing down upon the luckless, routing Bluedancing.
Carnelian and Fern approached the mob of Ochre cavorting around Galewing and Osidian. Ravan detached himself from the others and threw himself on Fern, hugging him hard. Fern pushed his brother away, holding him at arm's length to see his face; a laughing mask of sweat and gore.
'It's unbelievable,' the youth said. He spun round, hanging on his brother's arm. 'Just look at what we've done...'
Seeing the carnage, Carnelian was back on the ship that had brought him to the Three Lands, reliving the massacre he had caused when its crew had seen his face unmasked. Nausea gripped him, forcing him to double up while, all the time, Ravan kept pouring out his gloating chatter. Amid the universal glowing mood of celebration, others interjected details of the fighting, laughter, jests.
Coming up for air, Carnelian saw Fern surveying the field upon which the Bluedancing had been turned into so much butchered meat and was relieved to see his friend sickened by what he saw. Krow crouched, vomiting. Carnelian realized how similar this looked to the massacre of the Twostone.
Osidian towered severe among the youths, each vying with the others for the privilege of his attention, but he seemed unaware of them. His gaze was gliding across the dead as if he could not believe they were real.
Carnelian walked towards him and the youths made way as they might have done for Osidian himself.
'You knew this would happen,' Carnelian said in Quya.
Osidian's eyes had lost their over-bright look. He shook his head slowly, narrowing his eyes as he gazed out.
'You are in error, Carnelian, I did not know.'
Carnelian became aware Ravan and others were keenly watching their exchange. Carnelian sensed Ravan's resentment, but chose to ignore it. He felt compelled to address Osidian in Quya, even though it was turning all those around them into barbarians.
'But you promised it when you left us there.'
As Carnelian lifted his arm to point he became aware of the blood staining it to the elbow. His mind was drawn back to the slow dance of the battle. He saw past the vision to the marshy ground littered with the broken remnants of men and aquar; spears and saddle-chairs. The men of the hornwall were slogging towards them. With some effort, Carnelian wrenched his gaze back to Osidian's serene face.
'You promised us this ... this victory,' he said, spitting out that last word because it felt filthy in his mouth.
Osidian turned his green eyes on him. 'I would have promised anything, anything at all for this chance. The dead would not have reproached me in defeat.'
'Chance? What do you mean, chance?'
Osidian turned away, seemingly distracted by the moaning of the dying. An aquar that had been felled lay intermittently screeching, its tail lifting then subsiding, its taloned foot feebly gouging the bloody mud. The youths' excited chatter seemed to be mocking the poor creature's attempts to rise. Then they quietened. Following their gaze, he saw the Elders approaching, faces sagging with age.
Ravan stepped up to welcome them. 'My fathers, is this not a vast victory the Master has given us?'
Kyte surveyed the carnage. 'Yes, vast.'
Fern's eyes were welling tears. He grew suddenly enraged. 'What are you all doing behaving as if this were a wedding?'
Then everyone saw Crowrane, bowed, the body of his son in his arms. A silence fell which allowed them to hear the dying.
'Are you all deaf?' Kyte demanded. He seemed to have become ancient since the morning. His hand shook out. 'Go finish what you've begun.'
Sullenly, in ones and twos, taking their flint axes, the Plainsmen wound off across the battlefield.
Tears were rewetting the blood on Kyte's face as he watched them. This is an abomination.'
'What?' shouted Ravan. 'Haven't we been delivered from destruction? Wouldn't this have been our own fate if the Master hadn't saved us?'
Fern regarded his brother with horror. Kyte wiped away tears and regarded Ravan with unconcealed wrath. 'Can't you see, boy, all the men of the Bluedancing lying as carrion at your feet?'
'What of it?' said Ravan, face reddening.
'"What of it?'" echoed Kyte. He looked up blinking at the sky. His bloodshot eyes fell on Ravan. 'Who'll protect the hearths of the Bluedancing? Who'll hunt for their mothers and their children now their strength lies here rotting on this ground?'
Ravan's mouth hung open but he did not seem to have anything to say.
'Well, thank the Skyfather you've run dry at last,' said Fern and was rewarded with a look of hatred.
'What did the old man say?' Osidian asked Ravan.
The youth regained something of his composure as he translated Kyte's words into Vulgate.
'I regret this but we clearly had no choice,' said Osidian. 'Is it certain the Bluedancing are finished?'
Galewing nodded. They are no more.'
Then we must do what we can to save what is left.'
The old men focused narrowed eyes on Osidian.
'You could take their children into the Ochre to swell your strength.'
The old gave wary nods: the youths standing round looked uncertain.
Their salt shall swell the wealth of the Ochre.'
This the Elders listened to more attentively.
They'll have a good quantity of it, sure enough,' said Galewing. He looked over to where their men were moving, silencing the dying with blows.
Osidian addressed his next comment to everyone. 'We can send those of them already marked for th
e tithe to the Mountain in place of your own children.'
Carnelian watched the look of disbelief turn on many faces to hope. Shocked, he contemplated the joy of keeping Poppy from the Masters.
'But what about their women?' asked Galewing.
Osidian shrugged and then looked the Elder in the eye.
'Either we let them die or else you might welcome them into the Ochre ... as servants.'
The old men considered this. 'As servants . . .' they muttered, uncertainly.
They fished the Ochre dead from the carnage on the ridge. They salvaged saddle-chairs to replace the ones they had burned and improvised drag-cradles to carry the casualties.
'We must do something about all these bodies,' said Galewing in Vulgate, watching his people move among the corpses despoiling them of salt.
'Look around you,' Osidian said, sweeping his arm round. Sitting in his saddle-chair, he towered over the Elder. 'How shall we give them to the sky? See how numerous they are. It's impossible to take them with us. Would you leave a contingent of our strength here to keep away the scavengers? Consider that the Ochre are wholly unprotected.'
Galewing looked up sad, fearful. Then we've not only destroyed their tribe but we also damned the souls of all their men to live as raveners.'
Krow looked ill. Ravan was gazing uneasily over the battlefield, but then burned doubt away with anger. 'It's what they deserve. Rather them than us.'
Binding up Carnelian's wounds, Fern made no attempt
to hide his contempt for his brother. Unabashed, Ravan
strode to his aquar and when he was mounted, said, 'Let's go and save their women and children.'
* * *
Riding over a ridge, they saw an encampment spread on the plain.
'So many,' someone exclaimed.
'Even without their men they would still outnumber the Tribe,' said Fern.
'How can we hope to feed them all?' said Galewing.
'If you set them to work in the ditches you will be free to hunt more,' said Osidian. 'In time you can use their labour to extend the Koppie.'
As they rode closer, Carnelian saw the Bluedancing had formed their drag-cradles into a barricade behind which they stood waiting. Osidian brought the warband to a halt when the women's faces could clearly be seen peering out from under their head-blankets.
A shrill voice cried out a challenge.
'What?' Carnelian asked Fern.
'I'm not sure,' his friend replied. 'Something about their men. By the tone of her voice, a warning.'
They don't know what's happened.'
Fern looked morose. 'I think it more likely they're clinging to the hope we've got here by somehow eluding their men.'
'I wouldn't like to be the one who has to tell them,' said Krow. His statement was greeted by a murmur of agreement.
The Elders talked quickly among themselves. Kyte called over to Crowrane, who sat hunched in his saddle-chair, but the old man showed no sign of having heard. He had been like that since the battle and the death of his son.
Galewing forced a decision. 'We'll go down and talk to them.'
Osidian interrupted Ravan as he began to translate. 'I understood.'
They watched the Elders and the men who had lost children to the Bluedancing ride down towards the barricade. What if the women became violent? Carnelian did not doubt Osidian would be prepared to attack them.
The Elders were dismounting. They addressed the women over the meshed drag-cradles. Kyte made a speech. His head dropped before he was finished. A wave of consternation moved round the circle of the defenders. They began detaching themselves from their defensive ring and running to where Kyte was speaking. His posture betrayed his shame, as he turned to point up the slope. Wailing wafted on the wind. The Elders fell into a long discussion with them.
'Father above, what can they be finding to talk about?' said Ravan.
Osidian made him fall silent with a look. 'Everything depends on how much they love their children.'
Carnelian's heart was down there with the Bluedancing women. He watched the Elders remount and ride back.
They'll agree to come with us for the sake of their children,' Galewing cried out while he was still some distance away. 'But they demand that they be allowed to collect the bodies of their men for proper burial.'
Osidian waited until the Elders had reached him before he spoke. 'We can't allow this.'
'Why not?' Kyte asked.
Osidian raised an eyebrow. 'If you insist, I shall point out the obvious. Firstly, it would delay our return to the Tribe. They'll already be worrying about us and, besides, the longer we remain out here the greater the danger to us all from raveners. Secondly, this would mean we have to take those bodies back to the Koppie. Can you imagine the Ochre welcoming so many dead? Not to mention the sheer labour of it. Thirdly and, perhaps, most importantly, how do you think those women down there will feel towards the Ochre when they see all their men dead? You can see how numerous they are. How could we hope to control them in their grief?'
Kyte frowned and glanced back at the barricade in misery. He shook his head. 'Perhaps we should just let them die.'
'If that's your wish,' said Osidian.
The old men returned to the barricade, round-shouldered. When they gave out their decision, the wailing grew so that even at that distance, Carnelian felt harrowed. The children stolen from the Ochre were being given back. The women untangled their drag-cradles and began to load them up.
The Elders returned wan and tearful. 'We should help them.'
Osidian shook his head. 'In their midst we'd only give their grief a focus for revenge.'
So it was the Ochre sat and watched until at last a mass of the Bluedancing came up the slope towards them, a great march of aquar pulling drag-cradles. Looking among them Carnelian could see the dejected faces of the women, their snotty children, but it was to the people leading them that his eyes were drawn: old women, their grey hair jewelled with salt, their eyes brighter still with hatred and a staring disbelief.
Uncertain, the Tribe watched their men approach followed by the mass of the Bluedancing. The returning men and their women gazed at each other over the divide and Carnelian could feel the yearning drawing them together. The pull of it was stronger than their wariness at the crowd of strangers. The riders accelerated into a wild rush and the women came streaming out to meet them. Carnelian found himself left behind with Osidian and the Elders; the dead and wounded. The aquar slowed, then intermingled with the advancing women. Men were slipping down from their saddle-chairs into the continuous turmoiled mass in which everyone was shouting, hugging, kissing. It was through this the women Elders came riding with Harth and Akaisha at their head.
Carnelian smiled at Akaisha but her eyes were fixed on the people and drag-cradles coming up behind them.
The Bluedancing,' announced Galewing.
'All their women. All their children,' said Kyte.
Harth frowned. 'What are they doing here?'
'It'll take some time to explain,' said Galewing.
Ravan's aquar advanced. He grinned. 'We won a great victory and killed all their men.'
'All?' Akaisha gasped, in horror.
'Did anyone tell you, child, that you could speak?' said Harth, severely.
Ravan recoiled as if she had slapped him. He opened his mouth to say something, but a sharp look from his mother made him shut it again. He focused on his knees, struggling to contain his anger.
Harth turned her glare on the Elder men. 'What is this you've allowed to happen?'
The boy spoke out of turn, Harth, but he spoke truth,' said Kyte. 'We snatched victory from a dangerous defeat.'
'You mean the Master did!' erupted Ravan, before he rode off towards the Ochre crowd.
Harth gave Akaisha a glance of approbation and then her eyes fell on the Elder men. 'Did we suffer loss?'
Her face paled as she saw none were prepared to meet her gaze. She noticed Crowrane, head bowed. 'Husband?'
She rode to him, spoke again but still he did not respond. She noticed the drag-cradle hanging behind his aquar. She dismounted and, seeming infinitely old, walked round to find her son lying dead in it.
'How many dead?' asked Ginkga, tearful as she watched Harth collapse to her knees beside her son.
Nervously, Kyte gave a full account of their casualties.
Akaisha indicated the Bluedancing. 'And why are they here?'
'We couldn't very well leave them to die,' said Galewing.
'Which they would do without their men,' added Kyte.
Akaisha looked severe. 'We don't need lessons in husbandry from you, though perhaps you could tell us how we're going to manage to feed them all?'
'If you set them to work in the ditches we will be free to hunt more,' said Galewing.
'We can use their labour to extend the Koppie,' added Kyte and it seemed to Carnelian that Osidian was speaking through their mouths.
The Elder women greeted these suggestions with a thorny silence.
'We have back the children they stole from us,' said Kyte.
The women nodded. Ginkga shook her head. 'Was this worth the spilling of so much blood?'
Galewing glanced at Osidian. 'The Master has suggested we could send their tithe children to the Mountain in place of our own.'
The women started in amazement. Ginkga was the first to recover her composure.
There is something shameful in this.'
Akaisha's face showed she believed she was speaking not only for herself but for many of the others when she said: 'But there is also hope.'
In the days that followed, the Tribe plodded on through the mud and storms drawn by the yearning to be home. The Bluedancing slogged on behind like the Tribe's grim shadow. Gradually, people were becoming accustomed to them being there. News had spread of the plan to save their children. Carnelian sensed many could not help seeing this as a gift the Master had given them beyond even the victory that had brought most of their men back safely from the battle. Like him, others were drawing reassurance from glancing back at the treasure of these foreign children. Unease increased when the Tribe began to grow familiar with them. People told each other that the Bluedancing children were bound to suffer from the same fatal arrogance as their fathers. Soon Ochre youngsters were being forbidden to play with the Bluedancing. It was said that their marked children would have gone to the Mountain anyway; that they deserved to go. The list of claims and accusations grew until the rainy wind had washed away the stain of guilt from the faces and hearts of the Tribe.
The Standing Dead - Stone Dance of the Chameleon 02 Page 41
