‘The first two stones in our wall,’ his father said.
Carnelian looked up to his father, a golden obelisk on the dais. He looked back and saw the two ammonites sitting beside each other, each with his trays of beads. In front of them a third was sitting with his back to them. All three wore eyeless silver masks.
Carnelian walked round the dais to take his place as witness at his father’s right hand. At his feet facing him was a fourth ammonite. Between them was a low table upon which there was an ink sponge and beside it Carnelian’s blood-ring. In front of his father a fifth ammonite sat with a table, ink and Nephron’s seal. A little further away knelt a sixth. Carnelian could only wonder what his function might be.
His father turned to him. ‘Are you ready, Carnelian?’
Carnelian knelt on his ranga. ‘As I can be, my Lord.’
The first Masters that were let in were from one of the highest Houses of the Great. Three of them, filled with pride, come to tell He-who-goes-before that they would support him without condition. More followed, with their heraldry wrought in gems upon their smouldering robes.
‘These are the towers of our new wall,’ his father said as they waited for more.
For those Houses that were rich enough already in blood and iron, flesh and treasure soon ran out. It was then that the negotiations began in earnest. Some Houses wanted gifts, blocks of white jade from the eastern mountains, black pearls that had been found in the sea. Sometimes it would be a piece of porcelain a thousand years old or a half-dozen chrysalises containing butterflies recently discovered, whose wings spanned a shield but would crumple at the merest touch of breath. Suth as Nephron’s proxy promised these rarities from the House of the Masks’ fabled treasury. Precisely worded, an agreement would be dictated to the two ammonites with the bead trays who would each quickly thread it onto a silver cord. The two cords would then be put, one into each hand of the ammonite who sat before them. Holding his arms out, this ammonite would quickly pass them through his fingers, presumably to determine they were identical. One cord he would then hand back to be added to the lengthening record of which the clay beads were the beginning. The other would be threaded through a hole in the floor. The Masters would wait, making conversation about the Rains, their hopes for beauty among the children in the flesh tithe, their anticipation of pleasure and distraction in the new season’s masques. A piece of rolled parchment would emerge from the floor onto which the bead-cord had been transcribed. Suth would read this before passing it to his son. Carnelian would check the glyphs, then return the parchment to his father. It would be rolled out over the table at his father’s feet where Nephron’s seal would be appended. The seal of Carnelian’s own blood-ring would be added next and the document taken by the sixth ammonite for the perusal of the Masters. The negotiation complete, they would exchange formulaic greetings and the Lords would leave and allow the next party to replace them.
The negotiations became ever more intense as the rank of the Houses fell. In the case of a stipulated number of children, the Imperial Power ceded its rights to choose from the flesh tithe first or gave the child freely without exchange. Portions of the imperial revenue from the cities were assigned to the petitioning Houses for fixed periods of years, or a House would gamble, receiving it only for the duration of the next reign. Eyes were covenanted, the iron coins that were equivalent to ichorous blood. Suth confided in Carnelian that they did not have the time to make the complex arrangements in which the House of the Masks ceded rights to a House on the condition that that House should in turn cede rights to other Houses. The sky was already darkening when they began to barter imperial blood. Brides both living and yet to be born were promised from the imperial forbidden house. In some cases the marriage was restricted to a fixed period, in others it would remain in force until a child was produced.
Carnelian had hardly the strength to hold his head up when his father whispered that the doors were closed until the morrow. He managed to rise, and, with care, manoeuvred his father to his chambers.
‘It was good,’ his father croaked. ‘We have built much today. Tomorrow we will try to finish it.’
They parted and Carnelian dragged himself back to his chamber. Tain brought him some food and put him to bed. His brother said nothing and Carnelian had no energy to find words himself.
The following morning, election’s eve, Carnelian came into the Sun in Splendour to find his father with Aurum. He watched them for a while. They were alone, speaking with their hands, the slopes of their robes gleaming only on the side that faced the single brazier. Carnelian was reminded of that time long ago on the baran when he had seen them talking about Ykoriana. As he walked towards them, they turned.
‘My Lord Carnelian,’ said Aurum, inclining his crowned head. The old Master regarded him for a while, making him feel uncomfortable. ‘It seems that I am in your debt, my Lord,’ he said grudgingly.
‘It is nothing, Lord Aurum.’
Aurum smiled coldly. ‘A nothing on which the future of both our Houses depends.’
Suth distracted them with his hand. He looked at his son. ‘The Ruling Lord has come to tell me that there are rumours of more defections.’
‘Among the subsidiary lineages?’ Carnelian asked.
‘Ykoriana builds upon the betrayer within your own House,’ said Aurum. There was a tone of accusation in his voice.
‘My son and I expected this,’ said Suth. ‘I think this strategy she has chosen could very well be her undoing.’
Aurum rose as he straightened his ranga. ‘I will see what I can do.’ He bowed to each of them in turn. ‘My Lords.’ He turned and began the journey to the doors.
I dislike being allied to that Lord, Carnelian signed with his hand.
No more than do I, his father replied. But a chameleon will show wisdom by making common cause with a raven when both are being harried by an eagle.
Carnelian nodded and took his place at his father’s right hand. Suth lifted and let fall one of his court staves and immediately the hole opened up in the floor before his dais and began to disgorge its ammonites. Before it closed again, Carnelian saw a flicker of light coming up. It reminded him. He looked over to where, concealed by pillars, the trapdoor lay that led down into the ancient halls, the library and Osidian.
*
The day progressed very much as had the previous one. Later on, Ruling Lords arrived who admitted that they had agreed to vote for Molochite but were uneasy about the promises Ykoriana was making to the lower lineages. Their own third lineage made an appearance. As they offered him their loyalty, Suth remained aloof and only said that they had taken their time. Still, their votes added some more beads to the tally cord.
The agreements passed through Carnelian’s hands in a constant waft of parchment. In every case he endeavoured to make sure that the glyphs had caught the words his father spoke. He grew weary, then exhausted, until the glyphs began to swim before his eyes. Still they went on and he marvelled at the reserves of strength the drugs gave his father. Night fell and still they carried on. More and more his father was husbanding his words. When he spoke, it was with visible effort.
The moon had risen before the flood of Masters became a stream and then a trickle. Then there was a heavy pattern of gongings on the door.
‘Is that it?’ Carnelian asked.
His father let out a long, long sigh. ‘Yes. I must rest . . . a while.’ Carnelian watched his father sag and waited, glad beyond measure that the election was almost upon them. Win or lose, he wanted to take his father home.
Suth roused himself and turned a little to catch Carnelian in his eye. ‘Mask yourself.’ Carnelian did so and watched with what painful care his father lifted his own mask to his face before he said, ‘Ammonites, see again.’
Before him and at his side, all the ammonites removed their masks. Their faces were like parchment written all over with numbers. More appeared out from the hole before the dais. His father sent one off to fetch Ichor
ians. Carnelian watched the others follow their fellow’s movements with fearful eyes. One brought the bead-cord of the agreements wound onto a reel and placed it at his father’s feet, while another put a length of beadcord in his hands. Carnelian could see with what violence the man’s hand trembled and became alarmed. Fanciful thoughts scrambled through his mind, of murderous plots against his father. He rose on his ranga and stood, indecisive. His father could clearly see their fear, they were just in front of him, and yet he made no reaction.
His father only looked up when he heard the footfalls. The ammonite came stumbling back leading a file of Ichorians towards them. Carnelian watched the ammonites line up in front of his father in obedience to his hand’s command. ‘You have performed your service well. He-who-goes-before thanks you.’
The ammonites all fell into the prostration.
Suth turned to the Ichorians waiting behind. ‘Take them. Destroy them painlessly.’
‘My Lord,’ cried Carnelian.
His father’s hand jerked up, Silence.
‘But . . .’
‘They have heard too much. They knew this was their fate. It is done today as it is always done.’
Carnelian watched the Ichorians leading the little men off. Only when they had disappeared did his father drop his mask. He hung it on his robe and then looked down at the beadcord in his hand. Carnelian rose and walked to stand in front of him.
His father looked up. ‘I hold in my hand our wall of votes. I almost do not dare to count them.’
‘Let me do it, father.’
His father frowned. ‘You would have to know how to read the beads.’
‘Teach me quickly, father. It does not look too difficult.’
His father showed him how many votes each bead or combination of beads was worth. Carnelian could think of no way to explain that he knew their meaning well and so he pretended to be taught. When his father was finished, Carnelian took the cord. The beads were large, crude, made for insensitive fingers. He began to pay them through his hands, counting.
He ignored the distraction of the sun door opening. He was aware of the clack of ranga coming nearer.
‘He counts our votes, my Lord,’ his father said to the visitor.
Carnelian counted on, glancing up to see that it was Aurum. ‘Eleven thousand nine hundred and eighty-four,’ he announced.
His father’s eyes closed. ‘It is not enough.’
‘I might have missed a few.’
‘No matter. It is almost a thousand short.’
‘We are closer than I expected,’ said Aurum. ‘Let us not indulge in despondency; there will be time enough for that if we lose.’
Suth looked at him with narrowed eyes. He snorted. ‘If we lose, Aurum?’
‘Once they are in the Three Lands, many Lords will shift their votes.’
‘By a thousand?’
Aurum made a dismissive gesture. ‘In the nave, I put a rumour about that Ykoriana intends to extend the franchise to the Lesser Houses.’
Suth smiled a crooked smile. ‘That should put some unease in the hearts of the noble Great.’
‘Does My-Lord-who-goes-before wish to go and tell our Lord Nephron of this count?’
Suth smiled again. ‘I am without strength for the journey. Besides, my Lord, I am certain you would wish to tell him the good news yourself.’
Aurum frowned and took his leave of them.
Carnelian waited until he was gone before asking, ‘Do you share his hope, Father?’
His father shrugged his hands. ‘All that can be done, we have done. The result, only the morrow will reveal.’ He groaned as he lifted himself up. ‘Come, my son, help your weary father to his chambers.’
The ELECTION
Love came
I was its fool
There was joy
There was sorrow
(love eclogue – author unknown)
CARNELIAN WOKE IN SUCH PERFECT SILENCE THAT UNTIL HE MADE A sound he feared he might have gone deaf. Even the shutters were still, as if the sky was holding its breath. A lingering memory of the Yden evaporated like dew. He remembered and felt as if a weight were settling on his chest. The day of the sacred election had finally arrived.
His fingers remembered the beads of the vote count. As he rose, he tried to cling to Aurum’s optimism. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine what might be within the Chamber of the Three Lands’ bronze wall of trees. The Masters would all be there with their wintry eyes, Ykoriana and Molochite, Jaspar and Spinel. He glanced back at the bed recalling a tatter of his dream. He smiled. ‘Osidian,’ he breathed, wanting to feel the name on his lips. His heart began hammering. Surely, he would be there too. He had to be. All Chosen males of an age to wear blood-rings would vote in a sacred election.
He crouched to wake Tain. He had to shake his brother so long that he was relieved when at last his eyes opened. They snapped closed again as if dazzled by Carnelian’s white body. He walked away frowning, wanting his brother back the way he had been.
‘Master,’ Tain said.
Carnelian looked at him standing there, his eyes looking to the floor. He looked as if he were hanging from strings. ‘Please, Tain, would you clean me?’ He watched the boy go for the pads and unguents. ‘Today is the day when the Gods will be elected.’
Coming towards him, Tain gave a nod. He began cleaning him.
‘You know what that means?’
‘No, Master.’
‘That soon the Rains will come and we’ll return to our coomb.’
Tain gave another nod.
‘Soon things’ll return to the way they were, you’ll see. Ebeny’ll be here, Keal and Brin and Grane and . . .’ Carnelian stopped, unable to put Crail into the list. He went on. ‘They’ll all come up from the sea and we’ll make a new Hold here.’
Tain gave a nod. Carnelian looked at him. Cold clutched his stomach. What if all of them were like this when they arrived? Carnelian went to open the shutters to let in some light. He stared for a moment at the dawn sky. Its colours were a promise of a fresh new day, but they also looked like blood.
He turned his back on the sky. Tain was still there, waiting with his head hanging. Carnelian returned silently to stand in front of him and comforted himself with the hope that he might see Osidian, even if only from afar.
Carnelian sent Tain to see who was rapping at the door. The boy opened it a crack, then bowed deeply as he shuffled backwards to open the door wide.
‘My Lord,’ said Carnelian seeing that it was his father plugging up the entrance. He had to stoop to come in and seemed to fill the chamber with his gold and rubied robe. Tain had fallen to his knees. Looking down from his great height, Suth spoke.
‘Rise, child.’
Tain rose, head still hanging.
‘Come, look at me.’ Tain looked up. Carnelian watched his father’s mask survey his marumaga son from on high. ‘We are glad to have you back with us, Tain.’
Tain mumbled something.
‘Now go and prepare people to come and dress your brother.’
Tain slipped out and Suth removed his mask. His face was troubled. He threw a glance to the door.
‘I told you he had not come through this unscathed.’
His father nodded. ‘You will have time enough to heal his hurts. Now we must give thought to the day ahead.’
Carnelian withstood the intensity of his father’s eyes. He had not felt the pressure of that gaze for an age.
‘I have sent commands that the Suth Lords of the other lineages are to come here and take you with them into the Three Lands.’
‘I thought, my Lord, I would be there at your side.’
‘Even if I were not today He-who-goes-before, I would be sundered from you. At elections, Ruling Lords keep with their peers.’
‘What makes my Lord think Spinel will obey him in this when he defies him with his vote?’
Carnelian was glad that the wrath that appeared in his father’s face was not turned on him
. ‘That Lord will one day give me account for that. How he votes is his business, but I am still his Ruling Lord.’ The wrath passed from his face like the shadow of a cloud. ‘Come here, my son.’
Carnelian took the steps towards him, feeling his nakedness.
Although his father knelt on his ranga, Carnelian’s head only reached his chest. His father took it in his hands. Carnelian looked up into his eyes. He did not see their yellow bloodiness but only the fierce love.
‘You know, you are my heart.’
Carnelian’s tears distorted his father’s face. With a groan of effort, his father managed to bend down to kiss Carnelian’s forehead. He let go and rose so that Carnelian’s eyes were level with his waist. He took some steps back and hid his face with his sun-eyed mask.
‘Today all our fates shall be decided.’ Carnelian could hear the sorrow in his father’s voice. ‘Perhaps, even now, we shall be victorious.’
‘Aurum said—’
His father cut his reassurances from his mouth with a scissoring motion of his hand and left.
When Tain returned he came with others and Carnelian was forced to hide his distress behind a stony face. He could not rid himself of the harrowing conviction that his father had come to say goodbye. As they put him into his court robe he bit his tongue to stop himself from spraying them with bitter words. He could not bear to look at Tain’s remote expression. When they were finished he almost snatched his Great-Rings from their hands and, ordering the door open, he strode through it so fast he almost toppled over.
The Ichorians lifted the portcullises for him. Carnelian walked through into the nave and was suddenly among giants.
‘Cousin Carnelian,’ said a voice he recognized as Spinel’s. Carnelian saw him there with the others, the nine Lords of House Suth with their chameleon-cyphered court robes. Carnelian looked past them to the gleaming Great. Beyond, the nave ran empty to the closed door of the Chamber of the Three Lands.
Carnelian bowed his head. ‘My Lords. My father told me you would be here.’
The Chosen (The Stone Dance Of The Chameleon) Page 57
