The Chosen (The Stone Dance Of The Chameleon)

by Ricardo Pinto

  ‘By command of the Law-that-must-be-obeyed and in the manner prescribed,’ said Aurum.

  ‘You gave Crail over to him, Father?’

  ‘He sinned against the Law. I did try to tell you earlier . . .’

  ‘But . . . but you said . . .’ His head was trapped in ice. ‘If he had to die it should have been with us, in our House, where he served us all the days of his life. We brought him with us to keep him safe.’ His father’s impassive mask exasperated him. ‘Gods’ blood, Father, he was your brother!’

  ‘You stray into impertinence, my Lord.’

  ‘All this fuss over what?’ said Aurum. ‘A worthless old drudge. The creature sinned against the Law, against me. You must never forget, my Lord, that the Law must be obeyed.’

  Carnelian regarded the Master’s cowled head with a strange detachment. ‘But not, it seems, when it comes to our travelling arrangements.’

  Aurum’s mask drew back. He raised his hand in a vague, unreadable but angry sign.

  ‘You will be silent,’ said Suth in a dangerous tone.

  ‘I will, my Lord,’ said Carnelian, ‘for now.’ His voice vibrated out from the frozen spindle upon which he was impaled. He let his body walk itself down the stairway. His mind was as clear as blue winter sky. What had happened there that day he determined never to forgive nor to forget.

  The PURPLE FACTORY

  EVOCATION: What is this path of Law?

  RESPONSE: It is the tangling labyrinth.

  It is the roiling sea.

  It is the spiralling shell of the ammonite.

  (part of the ritual of the Apotheosis)

  REMOTELY, CARNELIAN FELT THE TUGGING ON HIS CLOAK. IT WAS A while before he reacted. He turned his head as if it were on a hinge. Tain’s face was there, anxious-eyed, desperate for some answer. Carnelian stared, not understanding what his brother wanted. Then he understood. Tain could not have comprehended the exchange in Quya. Carnelian moved his head once from side to side. As he watched the tears well up in his brother’s eyes he wondered why he himself had none.

  ‘Masters.’ The legionary knelt before them, head bowed. Behind him in formal prostration were ranged a number of black-skinned men.

  Aurum gave the legionary leave to rise.

  The man was tall for a marumaga, almost reaching Aurum’s sternum even though the Master was wearing the ranga. His oily black cuirass had the blue wave cypher of his legion embossed on its chest. Typically, he was honey-skinned. ‘I would beg to know which of you, my Masters, will take possession of these auxiliaries?’

  Aurum threw back his cowl to reveal his mask.

  The legionary bowed and pushed his arms out, wrists together. As he straightened, he swept his arm round to indicate the prostrate men. ‘I come to give you these, Master.’

  ‘Twenty Marula?’

  ‘Not so many, Master.’

  ‘Their collars have been removed?’

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  Vennel pushed towards Aurum. ‘Marula? And why have their collars been removed, my Lord?’

  ‘We shall discuss this matter at some more appropriate time, Vennel.’

  ‘How shall they be controlled without their collars? The creatures are notoriously feral.’

  Aurum made a gesture of annoyance. ‘The matter is well in hand. If my Lord will indulge us with a little patience, I think he will find that the water will soon run clear.’ He turned back to the legionary who was looking uncertainly from one Master to the other. ‘Have the creatures been given the treatment specified?’

  ‘They have, Master.’ The legionary snapped his fingers. One of the shadow men rose up, black as wood, gleaming, finely made. He stepped forward with grace and overtopped the legionary by more than a head. Indigo designs marbled his skin. His forearms were turned white by bracelets apparently of bone. His slitted yellow eyes seemed to be searching for a direction in which he might find escape. Carnelian breathed in his animal odour. Vennel drew back as if he feared contamination.

  The legionary barked a command. The black man gave him an insolent look but slowly lifted his arms above his head. The bracelets clinked as they slid down to his elbows. Carnelian saw the puffy patch just under his ribs. The legionary stabbed this with his finger. The black man threw back his head, grimacing, red mouth rimmed with sharpened teeth. His fists were slow to unclench. Looking at the wound, Carnelian was impressed the man made no sound.

  ‘They’ve all been bitten in the same place. Even now the poison works in their flesh. Without the proper medicine they will die. They all know this and are by this knowledge bound into my Master’s service more surely than if they still wore their service collars.’

  ‘How long before the venom kills them?’ asked Aurum.

  The legionary shrugged. ‘That depends on each creature’s strength, Master. Some will weaken in thirty days and be dead in forty. Others might survive longer.’

  Distaste came up through Carnelian’s numbness. He pitied them.

  Aurum walked past the legionary to stand before that gathering of shadows and said, in Vulgate, ‘Get up, slaves, so that you all may know those who are your Masters.’

  The Marula rose, unfolding their knotted limbs. Some dared to show their teeth. Carnelian was struck by their beauty. They were almost as tall as the Masters and had something of their poise and pride. They could have been Chosen reflected in a mirror of obsidian.

  ‘Filthy brutes,’ muttered Vennel with his woman’s voice.

  Vennel argued with the other Masters the rest of the way down the stairway. Carnelian was remembering Crail and hardly listened. The gist of it seemed to be that Vennel felt that changes had been made in their plans without his approval. He could see no reason why they needed Marula or why their collars had been removed, however elaborate the measures taken for their control.

  The stairway brought them eventually to a wide landing. From this, one last flight went down into a cave, cobbled like a courtyard, rib-vaulted, lit by lanterns hanging from chains. The ribs stood like tree trunks all around the walls. Between them, grilles flickered with the fires that burned behind and gates gave into dim rooms and corridors beyond. Carnelian saw all of this with a single glance, before his eyes were drawn to the creatures that were fidgeting over to one side: graceful two-legged saurians, far taller than the grooms who held them.

  The Marula swarmed down the steps. Carnelian remained behind with the Masters, Tain and the new boy.

  ‘Where are the palanquins?’ Vennel asked, an edge to his voice.

  Carnelian knew the saurians must be aquar. He watched them, enthralled by their liquid movements.

  ‘There are to be no palanquins, my Lord,’ Aurum said to Vennel.

  Carnelian turned to look for Tain and found that his brother and the other boy had crept to his side. Their eyes were following the graceful creatures.

  ‘Then how are we to travel?’ asked Vennel.

  ‘Is it not obvious that we are to ride, my Lord?’ said Jaspar.

  ‘Ride?’ said Vennel. ‘What of the decision that was made in the Legate’s hall?’

  Carnelian watched the saurians’ dancer’s walk and their heads floating high above their grooms.

  Vennel looked around for an answer. ‘And since when do the Chosen ride?’

  ‘Would my Lord prefer to walk to Osrakum?’ said Jaspar.

  ‘First the collarless barbarians and now this. I must insist that these changes be ratified in formal conclave.’

  ‘Do you have any doubt, Vennel, that such a ratification would take place?’ The tone of contempt in Jaspar’s voice caused Vennel to look round at him.

  ‘At the very least I must have time to contact my household to make—’

  ‘If you do, then we must leave without you, my Lord,’ said Aurum. ‘Even as we speak the tide comes in. Soon it will submerge the road we must take.’ He was watching the Marula move among the aquar.

  ‘Wind made flesh,’ muttered Carnelian, recalling something his father had on
ce said.

  Vennel turned his long mask towards him. ‘Did you say something, my Lord?’ He sounded livid.

  Carnelian ignored him. He had no wish to speak to Vennel, no wish to speak to any of the Masters. Instead, he went down the steps towards the aquar, trailing Tain and the other boy after him.

  Up close, the aquar had a dun surface, mottled, mosaic-scaled, dull-gleaming. A groom held the reins. Carnelian followed these up to the swaying snake-scaled heron head, the narrow snout, the stone bit wedged into the angle of the jaws, the eyes’ discs of green glass, as large as apples.

  Plumes flared suddenly above the eyes like salmon-pink peacock fans. Its body lurched, giving off a strong animal odour. Reins tautened, straining. Carnelian stepped back. He was aware of the nervously clenching three-fingered hands, and of the scrape and thump of the clawed bird feet longer than his own leg. The groom wound his forearm into the reins, ran his hand along the sweating flank, made low whistling noises. As the creature calmed, Carnelian reached out. He expected its skin to be slimy cold, but instead it had a smooth-pebbled warmth. He was thrilled to feel the tremble of its heart.

  ‘So beautiful,’ he sighed.

  The groom grinned like an idiot and made a bobbing bow. ‘Master ride yes?’

  The saddle-chair sat on the aquar’s long back, held there by the girth that passed under its belly. Carnelian stretched up to the chair rim. He ran his hand along the cracked barrelling wood. He could not reach high enough to follow its curve right up. It narrowed to form a crude back. It was like a small round boat. Bone knobs and hoops bristled the sides. Some had broken off, frayed knots of rope clung to others. The whole chair was grained with dirt.

  Carnelian looked round at other saddle-chairs. Each had its own shape. One had a wider back, another had long staples instead of hoops, from yet another tackle hung down like torn ship’s rigging. All shared the same unkempt, patched and filthy look. They were hardly the seats of Masters.

  ‘We’re being called away.’ It was Tain. Carnelian had forgotten him. His brother pushed something hard into his hand and walked off. Carnelian opened his fingers and saw that it was Ebeny’s Little Mother. He shoved the stone into a pocket, tucking its thong in after.

  The groom was still bobbing and grinning. ‘Master ride yes?’

  Carnelian saw that the other Masters were wandering among the aquar like shoppers at a fair. The aquar Carnelian was standing near looked to him as strong as any of the others. Its saddle-chair was no worse. He shrugged. He would take it though he could see no way to climb up.

  He turned to the groom. ‘Master ride yes.’

  The groom showed a few stump teeth, then jerked the reins. The aquar shifted and adjusted its weight from one foot to the other a few times, then its legs hinged back as it settled to the ground.

  The saddle-chair now no higher than Carnelian’s waist was a curved hollow padded with worn leather strips. Even through his nose filter, Carnelian detected something of the odour of its last owner. He conquered his disgust and gripped the chair rim. The groom gave an encouraging nod. Carnelian vaulted and fell untidily into the seat. He tried to slide into position even as the reins were being thrust into his hand. The groom whistled. With a sudden lurch Carnelian was pushed upwards. It was the slide down the chair that choked off his cry. He panicked as he kept sliding. Then his buttocks slapped against something hard and he stopped dead.

  Dazed, he saw the brown column of the creature’s neck was there before him. His legs poked straight out on either side. The chair lurched as the aquar shifted. Its eye-plumes rustled and quivered their pink just above him.

  ‘Put your feet in the stirrups, my Lord.’ It was his father’s voice.

  Carnelian managed to pull himself over in the direction of the voice. His father was hunched in a saddle-chair that was playing gently from side to side like a paper boat in a stream. He was guiding his aquar with small movements of his wrist. ‘The stirrup,’ he said, pointing.

  Carnelian peered round his chair rim and saw the flattened wooden ring swinging. He stretched and managed to remove one ranga shoe. Then with some effort he managed to screw his bandaged foot into the stirrup. It was a tight fit but it gave him something to push against. He removed his other shoe and found the stirrup on the other side. With his feet secure he found it easy to push himself up the chair and settle into a sitting position.

  ‘Once we get outside always breathe in through your nose pad. Do not forget, my Lord.’ His father’s voice was cold and remote. He moved away.

  Carnelian watched him go. He wanted to shout at him, how could you have turned Crail over to Aurum? His own remoteness was melting into tears. Grief sat like a stone on his chest. He concentrated on his breathing till the pressure lessened, then scoured around for a distraction. The ground seemed far below. Near one of the lanterns Aurum and his father were close together. The lantern’s eyes gleamed in its bronze and peppered their speaking hands with light. Jaspar and Vennel were sitting apart, each a massing of shadow adjusting into a saddle-chair. Vennel particularly, was having problems. Ranged behind them were the slim shapes of the Marula, holding their aquar steady with skilled hands.

  Carnelian looked for Tain. He found some other aquar, eye-plumes all aquiver, which instead of saddle-chairs had frames on their backs to which were tied many bundles. Sitting on top of each pile was a boy. Carnelian counted them. Five, one for each of the Masters. One of them was Tain, slumped staring at the ground.

  A Master’s voice gave a command and aquar began turning to point in the same direction. Carnelian watched them forming into a column that was heading off behind him. His aquar fidgeted. He would have to turn it to join the others. He pulled hard on the right-hand rein. The aquar’s long head lunged up and round. A huge green eye milked over with a blink. Plumes burst their pink almost in his face. The world spun round, then slowed to rest.

  When he had stopped feeling dizzy, Carnelian pulled more gently. This time the creature turned slowly. The chair rocked to the right, then to the left. He let both reins slack together. His aquar began to walk forwards. He rolled to one side then the other in a smooth liquid motion. The other aquar were moving through a gate. Carnelian passed under a lantern. He felt unease at its weight hanging above him. Its rays seemed to riddle him with holes. Then he was among the others. He went through the gate and felt the shadow of the tunnel beyond slide over him. Rock undulated by on either side. He was deafened by the echoing scrape and clatter of claws on stone. The riders ahead alternated bright then dim as slaves trotted by holding torches.

  Carnelian felt the breeze cooling his hand. He pulled his cowl down. Hidden, he lifted his mask a little. It was a relief to breathe unfiltered air. One deep breath. Another. There was a tang of the sea. He dropped the mask back. Through its eyeslits he saw the tunnel brightening ahead.

  Everyone stopped. The riders in front were like a line of skittles. Beyond them torches were bobbing off towards a huge portcullis. Carnelian became aware of the voices just down to his right. A man was reaching into the wall and cursing. Another brought a torch to cast its light into the recess. The man reached in and grimaced as he struggled with a counterweight. Carnelian saw the cable running off from it in a groove cut into the rock. A beam recessed into the floor was slid out from the niche to let its counterweight hang free. A grating sound made him look ahead. A few men were braced against the portcullis, pushing up. It was rising smoothly. As it did so the cables slid back along their grooves. There was a rattle and clink from the niches as the counterweights sank. More men rushed in to help lift the portcullis with poles. The whole mass of bronze-reinforced stone was heaved up until none of it could be seen. As the riders lurched into movement, Carnelian strained round to make sure the pack animals were close behind, then made his aquar follow.

  The portcullis thunked closed behind them. They rode for a while along the passage and stopped for another gate. Its grating cut the sky into blue squares. After it had rumbled up they moved for
wards and under it. One by one, the riders ahead showed stark against the sky, then disappeared. Eventually, it was Carnelian’s turn and he rode out into the morning.

  A vast sickle-blade of sand curved off into the west. Its inner edge was glinted by a creeping edge of sea. Its outer was defined by the cliffs into which, in the distance, a valley cut up from the beach. Carnelian’s knuckles were colourless as his hands clamped to the chair. He was high up on a shoulder of rock that buttressed the Tower Crag. The rock jagged down to grey-laced pools. The sea was exploding white among the boulders.

  Steps had been gouged into the rock. Aquar claws scrabbled and slipped as they were urged down. The stairway hugged the tower wall, its open side giving Carnelian too clear a view of the fall below.

  The last step gave onto a path grooved along a winding ridge of rock. They moved along it, riding parallel to the shore. Lime-green knuckled fingers of seaweed grasped the edges of the road. Channels carved across it, streaming water back to the sea. They drew closer to the waves. Carnelian could feel their thunder. Spume flecked the air. Sinking into the sand, the ridge grew flatter, allowing them to pick up speed. Carnelian was rolled around in the saddle-chair as his aquar took longer and longer strides. He found that if he pushed hard against the stirrups he could hold on more easily.

  When they reached the rocks’ pebble skirt, they began crunching across. The sea charged them, frothed over the pebbles, weakening visibly as it neared. It almost reached them, lingered frozen, then began to hiss back, at first slowly, then with an increasing rush and roar.

  The pebble scree quietened into sand. The riders ahead filed off along the sea’s margin, spurring their aquar into furious splashing speed. Carnelian did the same and the chair punched into his back. He gave a whoop of excitement as the wind whipped his black cloak up to flap around him like wings. The aquar’s diamond head cut the air. Its muscle-shudder pistoned up through the saddle-chair. Together, they crashed along the trail pool-pocked into the darker sand. Incredible speed. A wave slipped its glass across their path. They were smashing through it. Then it whispered away wiping clean the printed sand. The salt air penetrated even the mask filter and Carnelian sucked at it as hard as he could. His eyes swam. The beach flowed a brown spate on either side. He noticed it brightening. Behind him, over the cliffs of Thuyakalrul, the sun was rising and spreading its glow over the sand. The aquar all broke into song. Their voices were like reeded flutes. Carnelian and his aquar’s joined shadow cast forward like a spear as they pelted along the crystal margin of the sea, buffeted by their own speed’s rushing wind.